<ro 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 

CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  CRUZ 


Blue  Grass 
Ballads  and 
Other  Verse 

By  William  Lightfoot  Visscher 

Author  of  PETER  VANSANT— HARP  OF 
THE  SOUTH— BLACK  MAMMY- 
CARLISLE  OF  COLORA DO— W  A Y 
OUT  YONDER,  ETC.,  ETC. 


H.   M.   CALDWELL  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK    &*  BOSTON 


Copyright 
By    William   Ligbtfoot   Visscher 


To  my  dear  and  true  friends 
MR.  AND  MRS.  W.  F,  HALL 
of  Chicago,  this  book  is  inscribed 
with  love  and  gratitude. 

W.  L.  V. 


Contents 


BLUE  GRASS  BALLADS  — 

Kentucky ll 

Songs  of  Long  Ago  .  .12 
When  the  Corn's  Laid  By  13 
My  Own  Kentucky  Girl  .  1 5 
Ike  .....-•  '7 
A  Song  for  Tennessee  .  19 
When  Ben  Brush  Won  the 

Derby 2O 

Balcazar 22 

The  Rifle  in  the  Hall  .  .  23 
New  Ground  ....  25 
The  Fee'  Lark's  Song  .  .  26 

Our  Cabin 27 

My  Mother's  Portrait  .  .29 
A  Love  Song  .  .  .  .3° 
Down  at  the  Rocky  Spring  32 
The  Old  Grindstone  .  .  34 
On  Next  Court  Day  .  .  36 
Waiting  for  the  Call  .  .  37 
Fetch  Over  the  Canoe  .  39 
A  Summer  Night  .  .  .41 
Songs  We  Used  to  Sing  .  42 
Old-Time  Melodies  .  .  45 
Lucie  Lee  of  Tennessee  .  46 
In  Mississippi  Woods  .  47 
Dancing  in  the  Old  Time  .  48 
The  Kentuckian's  Lament  50 
Down  South  52 

Old  Mart  an'  Me  .     54 


Harp  of  the  South  ...     57 
In  Mexico.    .  59 

Christmas  in  the  Ole  Time  60 
When  the  Julep's  Ripe  .  63 
OTHER  VERSE  — 
The  Governor's  Violin  .  67 
The  Barbarian  ....  69 
Here's  to  You,  My  Brother  70 

Refugium 72 

A  Critic's  Reward  ...  73 
Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross  .  74 
Baby's  Morning  .  .  -75 
The  Gourd  Beside  the 

Spring 76 

A  Little  Shoe  ....  77 
Sandy  McCann  ....  78 
Chiquita,  La  Bonita  .  .  80 
My  Mother's  Wedding  Ring  82 
The  Poet  King  ...  83 
The  Coming  Master  .  .  84 

Cando 85 

A  Modern  Temple.      .      .     87 

Castelar 92 

Renaissance 95 

Easter    Lilies    and   Easter 

Bells ioo 

Two  Revels       .      .      .      .102 
Give  Us,  O!  God,  to  Know  104 

Mistletoe 105 

"Buffalo  Bill,"  A  Knight  of 


the  West 


1 06 


The  Modern  Steed  .  .  .  1 1 1 
The  Storm  King  .  .  .113 
Bohemia's  Rest.  .  .  .114 
A  Gentleman  .  .  .  .118 
Don't  Saw  Yourself  Off  of 

a  Limb 119 

One  More  Valentine  .  .121 
On  the  Summer  Sea  .  .123 
Be  Fair  and  Just,  My  Son  125 

Go  Easy 126 

Two   Dead 127 

The  Tiger's  Cub  .  .  .128 
Jim  Marlinspike  .  .  .131 
A  Memory  and  a  Tear  .  134 
His  Angel  Slept  .  .  .136 
The  Woman  of  the  Moon  138 
A  Talisman  .  .  .  .  .  139 

Chicago 139 

SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  — 

The  Dove 157 

The  Other  End  of  War     .   158 

Battle 161 

War 164 

The  Anglo-Saxon  Way  .  164 
Blue  and  Gray  are  One  .  168 

All  in  Gray 169 

The  Regimental  Flag  .  .170 
Rhoda  Ragland  .  .  .172 

"  Le  Reve" 176 

Daughters  of  America  .  177 
A  Song  of  Peace  .  .  .178 
A  Song  of  Thanksgiving  .  179 
"Old  Glory"  .  .  .  .  180 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES — 
In  the  Fall  of  the  Year     .    183 
Rosie's  Sunday  Clothes     .    185 
If  I  Could  Live  as  Long  as 

Methusalum  .  .  .  .187 
There's  No  Little  Coon 

Like  Mine  .  .  .  .188 
Cawn-Pone  an'  Greens  .  190 
You  Can  Nevah  Make  a 

White  Man  from  a  Coon  191 
His  Bracer  in  the  Morning  192 
I'm  a  King  an'  I  w'ars  de 

Crown 194 

All  Day  on  Lawd's  Day  .  196 
How  Ephum  Won  a  Gun  .  1 97 
Sandy's  Sunday  Shirt  .  .199 
Jaw-Bone  Talk  ....  200 
"  Dem  Skeeters  "  .  .  .201 
Tell  Me,  Honey  .  .  .  202 
Fo'  Dey  Set  de  Darkies 

Free     ...  .         204 

Hard  Times  GwineAway  .   205 

Zoe's  Plea 207 

The  Dinner  Horn  .  .  .  207 
My  Alabama  Rose  .  .  .  209 
Rambo's  Serenade  .  .  .210 

Loo,  John 212 

A  'Possum  Song  .  .  .213 
Hear  dem  Niggahs  Singin' .  215 
Sorry  for  the  Lord  .  .  .216 
Jube's  Old  Yaller  Dog  .217 
Old  Cato's  Creed  .  .  .218 
Some  Singin'  ....  220 
Juley  Ann 221 


Blue  Grass  Ballads 


Proem 

In  the  evening  of  a  lifetime, 

While  the  shadows,  growing  long. 
Fall  eastward,  and  the  gloaming 

Brings  the  spell  of  vesper  song, 
Fond  memory  turns  backward 

To  the  bright  light  of  the  day, 
Where  joys,  like  troops  of  fairies, 

Gaily  dance  along  the  way, 
Full-armed  with  mirth  and  music, 

Driving1  skirmishers  of  care 
Howling,  back  into  the  forest, 

And  their  dark,  uncanny  lair. 

So  the  pastures  of  Kentucky, 

And  the  fields  of  Tennessee, 
The  bloom  of  all  the  Southland 

And  the  old-time  melody; 
The  vales,  and  streams,  and  mountains, 

The  bay  of  trailing  hounds; 
The  neigh  of  blooded  horses 

And  the  farm-yard 's  cheery  sounds; 
The  smiles  of  wholesome  women 

And  the  hail  of  hearty  men, 
Come  sweeping  back,  infancy, 

And,  behold,  Fm  young  again. 


Blue  Grass  Ballads 


KENTUCKY. 

From  where  Big  Sandy  tumbles  down 

Its  sources  in  the  mountains 
Of  West  Virginia,  and  is  fed 

By  crystal  brooks  and  fountains, 
Until  it  joins  the  graceful  sweep 

Of  broad  Ohio's  waters, 
That  wash  the  strong  and  shapely  feet 

Of  three  beloved  daughters 
Of  fair  Columbia,  and  join 

The  great  and  murky  river, 
That  sweeps  old  Tennessee's  rich  banks, 

Where  water  lilies  quiver, 

I  love  you,  dear  Kentucky. 

I  love  your  woods  and  verdant  hills, 

And  every  stream  and  farm-land, 
For  to  your  sons,  dear  mother  state, 

Your  every  rood's  a  charm-land ; 
No  fairer  women  in  the  world, 

Nor  braver  men  are  living, 
To  bless  the  places  whence  they  go 

Than  those  that  you  are  giving, 


12  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

And  for  your  strong  and  loving  ways, 
Your  happy  homes  and  graces, 

Your  sons  are  zealous  that  your  name 
Shall  hold  the  highest  places, 

And  love  you,  dear  Kentucky. 

Oh,  may  you  live  ten  thousand  years 

In  all  your  strength  and  beauty, 
And  may  your  sons  cling  close  to  you 

In  loyal  love  and  duty ; 
And  may  your  fields  be  ever  fair 

And  all  your  sorrows  lightest, 
While  all  your  joys  shall  grow  apace, 

The  sweetest  and  the  brightest ; 
May  Peace  and  Plenty  live  with  you, 

Through  all  the  coming  ages, 
And  ever  pure  your  history  be 

In  all  its  shining  pages, 

As  our  love,  Kentucky. 


SONGS  OF  LONG  AGO. 

List  to  the  song  of  the  old-time  South, 
Come  like  a  ghost  tonight, 

'Rayed  in  the  bloom  of  the  dear  loved  land, 
And  in  a  gown  of  white. 

A  belle  of  the  old-time  strikes  the  keys, 
And  melody  is  here, 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  13 

Clad  in  the  songs  of  the  dear  old  days, 
Remembered  with  a  tear. 

The  days  when  men  were  gallant  and  true, 

In  court  and  field  and  hall, 
When  word  of  a  friend  was  word  of  a  host, 

And  truth  was  all  in  all. 

Dance,  in  the  gray  of  the  curtained  room, 

Old  melodies,  and  cast 
Your  shadows  'long  the  ivory  keys, 

Where  she  invokes  the  past. 

Then  glide  away,  as  the  light  grows  bright 

Within  the  blazing  room, 
But  leave  the  scent  of  your  lilies  here, 

And  Memory's  soft  perfume. 


WHEN  THE  CORN'S  LAID  BY. 

Thar's  lots  er  things  I'm  gwine  ter  do, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by ; 
I'll  hunt  the  shade  and  hug  it,  too, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by. 
I'll  set  down  by  the  crick  an'  fish, 
An'  mebbe  I  will  git  my  wish, 
Thet  one  I  know  will  come  and  say : 
"  Now  hain't  it  good  to  see  the  day 
When  the  corn's  laid  by  ?  " 


14  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

An'  mebbe  she  will  set  by  me, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by, 
An'  lean  her  head  agin  my  knee, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by, 
An'  talk  so  mighty  pert  an'  sweet 
Thet  hit  will  be  the  finest  treat— 
An'  mebbe  then,  'at  she'll  agree 
To  what  I  axed — well,  we  will  see, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by. 

Then  mebbe  she'll  come  home  with  me, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by, 

An'  live  beneath  the  old  roof-tree, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by. 

In  fact,  I  'spect  she'll  be  my  wife 

To  love  an'  cherish  all  my  life, 

An'  re'ly  I  could  never  ask 

A  better  or  a  sweeter  task, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by. 

Yes,  I  will  have  a  heap  er  fun, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by ; 
For  then  the  rest  of  fall's  begun, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by. 
The  work  will  jis  be  harvestin' 
An'  fillin'  every  empty  bin, 
To  feed  the  folks,  an'  cattle,  too, 
An'  arm  old  Father  Winter  thoo, 
When  the  corn's  laid  by. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  15 

Another  thing  I'm  gwine  to  do, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by ; 
I'm  gwine  ter  lick  that  Hogan  crew, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by. 
Ef  'twarnt  for  losing,  from  the  plow, 
A  day — er  mo' — I'd  do  it  now, 
An'  so  I  reckin  I  kin  wait, 
For  sholy  hit  woan  be  too  late, 

When  the  corn's  laid  by. 


MY  OWN  KENTUCKY  GIRL. 

Young  Cupid's  bow  is  modeled 

By  the  curve  of  that  sweet  mouth, 
And  her  breath  is  like  the  perfume 

Of  the  breezes  from  the  south ; 
Her  hair  is  fair  and  golden, 

And  her  eye  is  clear  and  blue ; 
Her  laugh  is  rippling,  richest  wine ; 

Her  heart  is  fresh  and  true. 

She  comes  to  meet  me,  flying, 

And  her  welcome's  like  the  spring, 
With  smiles  and  tears  of  gladness, 

And  she  makes  my  old  heart  sing. 
Tis  light  and  life  to  meet  her, 

And  there's  chaste  and  perfect  bliss 
When  she  lifts  her  face  and  gives  me 

A  daughter's  sweetest  kiss. 


16  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

Oh !  how  lovingly  she  leads  me 

Thro'  old-time  homestead  halls, 
And  halts  where  pictured  faces 

Of  dead  loved  ones,  on  the  walls 
Look  down  and  smile  upon  us, 

And  give  their  welcome,  too, 
While  'cross  my  face  the  shadow  flies 

Of  grief  that  comes  anew. 

But  come  the  days  and  go  the  days, 

And  we  are  happy  there, 
For  I  love  to  watch  those  eyes  of  blue 

And  kiss  the  sunny  hair ; 
And  I'm  proud  to  see  her  spring  upon 

Her  mettled  thoroughbred, 
And  gallop  through  the  woodlands, 

Where  the  blue-grass  carpet's  spread. 

She  is  blithe  and  bright  and  winsome, 

But  there  will  come  a  day 
When  some  lover  of  another  kind 

Will  spirit  her  away, 
By  the  spell  that  wins  these  dear  ones — 

Aye,  even  such  a  pearl 
As  this,  my  old  heart's  sweetheart ; 

My  own  Kentucky  girl. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 
IKE. 

Ike's  hat  was  made  of  plaited  straw, 

An'  'peared  a  good  size  stack, 
Ez  it  flopped  about  his  shoulders, 

An'  meandered  down  his  back ; 
His  shirt  was  common  fact'ry, 

An'  his  britches  was  of  jeans, 
An'  him,  a  long  an'  ganglin'  cuss, 

Jis  outen  of  his  teens. 

I  think  it  was,  in  common,  'lowed, 

Et  Ike  could  hoe  mo'  cawn, 
An'  worm  an'  top  mo'  'backer, 

Fo'  the  blowin'  of  the  hawn, 
En  any  man  yan  side  the  crick, 

Fur  miles  an'  miles  aroun', 
An'  yit,  you  sildom  seed  him  here, 

Er  loafin'  'bout  the  town. 

He  never  lowed  whut  he  could  do, 

But  went  an'  done  it  fus, 
An'  anyone  could  josh  him,  lots, 

An'  not  ezpect  a  muss. 
He  was  peaceful  as  er  sack  er  oats, 

An'  some  was  'dined  to  say, 
He  was  light  about  the  livah — 

Er  sorter  thater  way. 


18  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

'Twuz  late  along  one  summer  time — 

We'd  all  laid  by  ow  cawn- 
A  lot  of  us  was  loafin'  'roun', 

An'  some  was  sorter  gone, 
On  rock-en-rye,  an'  sich  like  truck, 

Fum  outen  Nagle's  sto', 
When  a  feller,  jis  'bout  six-foot-two, 

Comes  stalkin'  in  the  do.' 

He  wo'  a  pa'r  er  navy  guns, 

En  a  knife,  I  think,  er  two, 
An'  he  'lowed  a  mighty  heap  er  things, 

'Bout  all  that  he  could  do. 
Well,  I  kep'  on  a  layin*  back, 

An'  didn'  aim  to  rise — 
I  hadn'  lost  no  fightin'  man — 

Eespeshly  of  his  size. 

The  feller  'lowed  he'd  come  out  here 

To  run  the  place  awhile, 
Then  take  the  pootyiss  gal  an  go, 

Ez  that  was  'bout  his  style. 
He  hadn'  mo'  than  said  it,  good 

Tell  Ike  lit  inter  him, 
An'  the  wuss  licked  man  I  evah  seed 

Was  that  gun-loadened  slim. 

Ike  swep'  the  flo'  an'  road  with  him, 
An'  thowed  him  crost  some  logs, 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  19 

Then  tuck  his  guns,  an'  shot  'em  off, 

An'  flung  'em  to  the  hogs, 
En  tuck  his  knives  an  hacked  the  blades, 

Tell  they  was  only  saws, 
An'  sence  that  day,  the  word  of  Ike 

Has  ben  ow  statoot  laws. 


A  SONG  FOR  TENNESSEE. 

A  hundred  years,  dear  Tennessee ; 

A  hundred  years  and  one, 
Among  the  sisterhood  of  states, 

And  duties  nobly  done ; 
Yet  never  shone  a  brighter  smile 

Upon  a  fairer  face 
Than  thine,  proud  daughter  of  the  South, 

Nor  one  of  sweeter  grace. 

So  here's  to  thee, 

Dear  Tennessee, 
Far  famed  in  song  and  story ; 

And  may  you  be 

Forever  free, 
And  clothed  in  love  and  glory. 

A  hundred  years,  dear  Tennessee, 

Of  honor,  worth  and  truth ; 
A  hundred  years,  and  you  have  grown 

In  strength  and  rosy  youth ; 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

The  summers  come  and  smiling  go, 
And  leave  the  gentle  trace 

Of  health  and  joy,  and  beauty's  glow 
Upon  thy  wholesome  face. 

A  hundred  years,  dear  Tennessee, 

And  may  ten  thousand  more 
Bring  all  the  wealth  of  happiness 

That  they  may  have  in  store, 
To  thee  and  thine,  oh,  lovely  one ! 

So  shall  thy  children  sing 
A  psalm  of  praise,  a  song  of  love, 

And  make  thy  mountains  ring. 


WHEN  BEN  BRUSH  WON  THE  DERBY. 

No  fairer,  brighter,  softer  day, 
Had  old  Kentucky  seen  in  May ; 
The  track  was  fast,  the  betting  bold, 
And  eager  every  three-year-old ; 
The  quarter  stretch  was  packed,  alive, 
By  men,  like  bees  within  a  hive ; 
The  grand  stand  seemed  a  vast  bouquet 
Of  handsome  women,  bright  and  gay, 
Of  brilliant  dress,  and  with  the  fair 
Were  gallant  men,  beside  them  there, 
When  Ben  Brush  won  the  Derby. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  21 

From  far  and  near,  on  Churchill  Downs, 
Had  gathered  folk  from  farms  and  towns 
From  river  craft  and  camp  and  fort 
To  revel  in  the  royal  sport, 
Where,  under  saddle,  spur  and  lash 
And  flying  like  a  lightning  flash, 
The  colts  and  fillies  fought  to  win 
New  glory  for  their  breed  and  kin. 
Thus  proudly  came  the  game  array, 
Upon  that  lovely  day  in  May, 

When  Ben  Brush  won  the  Derby. 

A  quarter  back  behind  the  string, 
The  entries  made  their  starting  spring, 
High  bred  Ulysses  at  the  pole — 
With  hope  to  hold  it  to  the  goal — 
And  then  Ben  Eder,  Brush  and  all ; 
But  gallant  Brush  came  near  a  fall, 
When  at  the  clang  of  starter's  bell, 
The  field  went  dashing  down,  pell  mell ; 
So  First  Mate  set  the  rattling  pace 
In  that  hot  foot  and  famous  race, 
When  Ben  Brush  won  the  Derby. 

Ben  Eder  pushed  young  First  Mate  out, 
And  from  the  stand  a  roaring  shout 
Came  from  his  partisans,  and  then 
The  field  was  bunched  behind  brave  Ben, 


22  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

Along  the  back  stretch  thus  they  flew- 
Ben  Eder's  distance  barely  grew — 
And  so  they  reached  the  upper  turn, 
While  every  rider  bent  to  earn, 
With  whip  and  spur,  a  better  place, 
And  yet  it  looked  like  Eder's  race, 
When  Ben  Brush  won  the  Derby. 

Around  the  turn,  and  down  the  home, 
The  flyers  came,  all  white  with  foam. 
By  full  three  lengths  or  more  ahead 
The  two  Bens  bravely,  madly  sped, 
Ben  Eder  leading  Brush  a  length, 
When,  with  a  burst  of  speed  and  strength 
Ben  Brush  pressed  forward  at  the  close 
And  'neath  the  wire  pushed  his  nose, 
Then  from  the  crowd  wild  huzzas  rose, 
Loud  and  alike,  from  friends  and  foes, 
When  Ben  Brush  won  the  Derby. 


BALCAZAR. 

His  eye  is  dark  and  threatening, 
And  kingly  is  his  mien — 

He  comes  of  a  race  of  monarchs 
And  his  mother  was  a  queen. 

His  step  is  proud,  his  spirit  high 
And  he  is  strong  and  bold ; 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  23 

Yet  the  gentlest  hand  may  guide  him 
As  it  did  the  knights  of  old. 

His  ancestors  had  been  the  friends 

Of  noble  lords  and  kings, 
And  from  the  days  of  errantry 

Their  fame  the  poet  sings. 
In  love  and  war,  and  in  the  chase, 

In  castle,  town  and  home, 
Twas  known  before  the  Caesars, 

Or  a  hierarch  of  Rome. 

See  where  he  stands  and  waits  for  me ; 

Now  glancing  through  the  trees, 
And  'cross  the  verdant  meadow  lands, 

Whence  comes  the  odor'd  breeze 
That  blows  aslant  his  ebon  hair — 

Good-bye ;  his  call  I  heed, 
For  he's  my  friend,  that's  well  beloved — 

My  gallant,  high-bred  steed. 


THE  RIFLE  IN  THE  HALL. 

From  the  days  of  Boone  and  Kenton, 
In  "the  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground," 

To  the  days  when  homes  and  gardens 
In  the  blue-grass  land  abound  ; 

Since  it  sent  its  leaden  messengers 
To  bring  the  savage  down, 


24  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

We  have  blest  the  good  old  rifle 
Of  Kentucky  and  renown. 

It  is  long,  and  grim,  and  rusty, 

And  out  of  date  its  lock, 
And  tarnished  are  the  mountings 

In  brass  upon  its  stock, 
But  we  love  the  ancient  weapon, 

Resting  high  against  the  wall ; 
That  old  Kentucky  rifle, 

On  the  buckhorns  in  the  hall. 

By  the  date  and  letters  graven 

On  its  butt,  we  understand 
That  our  grandsire  was  its  master, 

And  in  his  sturdy  hand 
It  cleared  the  way  for  progress, 

Thro'  many  a  savage  fray, 
To  where  'tis  dumbly  hanging 

On  the  buckhorns  there  today. 

Thro'  trial  and  the  wilderness, 

His  faithful  guard  and  guide, 
'Twas  cherished  by  that  hardy  soul, 

And  'twas  his  boast  and  pride. 
Now,  'mong  the  rich  bequests  he  left 

The  dearest  of  them  all 
Is  the  long  Kentucky  rifle 

On  the  buckhorns  in  the  hall. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  25 

NEW  GROUND. 

The  trees  were  girdled,  long  ago, 

Down  in  that  woodland  piece, 
That  lay  along  between  the  creeks 

And  joining  Closser's  lease. 
'Tis  sad  to  see  that  gentle  spring 

Brings  now  no  foliage  there, 
But  leaves  the  trees  in  nakedness, 

Their  long  arms  thin  and  bare. 

The  birds  have  flown,  and  far  away 

In  plaintive  song  they  tell 
Of  how,  before  the  sounding  ax, 

The  old  trees,  groaning  fell. 
The  shady  nooks  of  other  days, 

The  sun  and  glare  have  found, 
And  men  have  come  with  fire  and  spike 

For  clearing  up  the  ground. 

The  trees  are  logs,  the  boughs  are  gone, 

In  heaps  the  trunks  now  lie, 
And  heaving, 'mid  their  drink  and  song, 

Log  rollers  vaunting  vie ; 
Young  boys  are  burning  heaps  of  brush ; 

The  log  piles  blaze,  and  bright 
The  fires  burn  throughout  the  day 

And  glare  the  sky  at  night. 


26  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

The  other  fields  are  old  and  worn, 

Beneath  the  farmer's  toil ; 
The  crops  of  many  years  have  drained 

The  nurture  of  the  soil. 
So  thus  the  woods  where  you  and  I, 

As  hoyden  children  played, 
Are  gone,  as  have  the  happy  days 

Within  the  sylvan  shade. 


THE  FEE'  LARK'S  SONG. 

"  I — chee — wee  !  "     "  I — chee — wee  ! 
Harkee !  mammy,  hark ! 
There  he  is ;  can't  you  see  ? 
He's  the  first  fee'  lark. 

See  him  settin'  on  the  fence  ? 
I  thess  think  his  style's  immense ; 
Nen  I  know  thess  w'at  he  sings, 
Cos  he  sings  it  all  the  springs ; 

"  Pull  them  shoes  off,  mighty  fas', 
Turn  them  toeses  out  to  grass." 
He  can  say  a  heap,  you  see, 
With  his  little  "  I — chee — wee !" 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  27 


OUR  CABIN. 

It  was  early  in  November ; 

Ah,  the  time  I  well  remember ! 
Tho'  that  was  more  than  sixty  years  agone, 

When  I  came  here  with  my  honey, 

Blest  with  health  but  not  with  money, 
And  I  had  my  Old  Virginia  blood  and  brawn. 

We'd  a  wagon  load  of  "  plunder," 
And  a  love  that  naught  could  sunder ; 

To  one  another  we  were  all  the  earth, 

And  the  changes  time  has  brought  us 
Have  but  only  sweetly  taught  us 

That  fidelity's  its  own  and  truest  worth. 

Oh  !  'twas  lovely  in  this  valley 

When  myself  and  darling  Sally 
Camped  on  the  banks  of  the  clear  and  babbling 
stream 

And  the  forest,  deep  and  olden, 

Tinted  scarlet,  green  and  golden, 
Sang  vespers  while  we  dreamed  a  happy  dream. 

Here  I  built  my  love  a  bower, 
Tho'  its  sweetest,  fairest  flower 
Was  the  little  wife  who  dwelt  therein  with  me ; 


28  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

And  we  wrought,  with  hope,  together, 
In  the  bracing  autumn  weather, 
Buoyant  and  happy,  ardent,  young  and  free. 

Then  the  forest,  dark  and  hoary, 

Gave  from  'mid  its  lusty  glory 
The  timbers  for  our  little  cabin  here, 

And  the  neighbors  came  and  "  raised  "  it, 

Sweet  Sally  blessed  and  praised  it, 
And  no  other  home  has  ever  seemed  so  dear. 

With  the  years  that  have  been  flowing 
From  the  fount  of  time  and  going, 

The  cabin  home  has  grown  with  every  day, 
And  the  sun  is  broadly  streaming 
Where  were  forests,  and  the  gleaming 

In  the  valley,  is  the  harvest's  proud  array. 

Much  wealth  has  come  to  bless  us 

And  but  little  to  distress  us, 
And  the  house  has  grown  to  be  a  mansion  fair ; 

Still  I  find  my  mem'ry  holding 

Apart,  and  fondly  folding 
To  itself,  the  cot  I  built  for  Sally  there. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  29 

MY  MOTHER'S   PORTRAIT. 

I  have  come  to  the  home  of  my  childhood ; 

Come  back  from  the  toil  and  the  strife 
Of  the  roaring  world  back  to  the  wildwood 

And  rest  in  the  evening  of  life. 
I  came  through  the  forest  and  farmland, 

And  up  thro'  the  roses,  along 
By  the  banks  of  the  lake  of  this  charmland, 

And  heard  the  free  meadow-lark's  song. 

The  lion-head,  dull  brazen  knocker 

Is  yet  on  the  door  of  the  hall ; 
Inside  is  the  old-fashioned  rocker, 

The  dearest  old  chair  of  them  all. 
I  sit  in  its  arms,  that  invite  me, 

And  gaze  on  a  face  that  is  fair; 
A  face  that  smiles  sweetly  and  brightly, 

And  lovingly  welcomes  me  there. 

Oh,  dark  are  the  curls  that  are  falling 

About  the  fair  shoulders  and  face, 
And  soft  are  the  eyes  that  seem  calling 

Her  wandering  boy  to  his  place 
In  the  arms  that  so  tenderly  held  him, 

In  infancy's  innocent  days  ; 
Dear  white  arms,  that  never  repelled  him, 

Tho'  ever  so  wayward  his  ways. 


30  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

Oh,  God !  could  I  have  my  sweet  mother 

Forever  and  ever  with  me, 
She,  dearest  of  all — and  another, 

Whose  loved  name  shall  nameless  here  be — . 
My  burden  of  life  and  its  sorrow, 

Would  sink  in  joy's  fathomless  sea, 
And  bright  would  come  shining  each  morrow, 

A  blessing,  dear  Father,  from  Thee. 


A  LOVE  SONG. 

I  love  you,  my  sweetheart ;    my  sweetheart,  I 

love  you, 
And  wish   I   might  kiss  your  bonny,  sweet 

mouth, 
Down  there,  'mid  the  roses  that,  dripping  with 

eve-dew 

Are  'stilling,  by  moonshine,  the  balm  of  the 
South. 

My  darling,   my  sweetheart,   the   days  are    so 
dreary, 

And  weary  the  years  that  drag  slowly  along, 
When  I  am  away  from  the  arms  of  my  dearie, 

That  life  is  a  sigh  and  the  ghost  of  a  song. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  31 

Will  the  time  ever  come,  my  darling,  my  sweet- 
heart, 
When  here  in  the  strong  arms  that  longingly 

wait, 

You  will  rest  thus  forever,  and  never  to  part 
From  love  that  is  deep  and  defiant  of  fate  ? 

My  darling,  my  dearie,  my  love  and  my  idol, 
I  am  worshiping  now  at  the  sanctified  shrine, 

Wherein  hath  been  hallowed  the  vows  of  a  bridal 
That  made  you  in  soul,  if  not  mortally  mine. 

My  heart  is  the  censer,  where  incense  is  burning — 
The  incense  of  love  that  is  fragrant  and  strong — 

The  eyes  of  my  soul  to  your  image  are  turning, 
And  breathing  my  love-prayer,  I  sing  you  this 


I  love  you,  my  sweetheart;  my  sweetheart,  I 
love  you ; 

Each  moment  of  life  is  a  tear  and  a  sigh ; 
Oh,  come  to  the  arms  that  so  longingly  wait  you, 

Come  to  the  love  that's  as  deep  as  the  sky. 


32  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

DOWN  AT  THE  ROCKY  SPRING. 

A  winding  path  that  tumbled  down 

A  steep  and  grassy  hill, 
Found,  at  the  foot,  a  rocky  spring 

Where  I  have  drunk  my  fill 
Of  water  pure  and  cold  as  that 

Of  which  the  prophet  wrote, 
When  Israel  drank,  beside  the  rock, 
i         That  good  old  Moses  smote. 

A  little  house  of  rough-hewn  stone ; 

A  low  and  heavy  door ; 
A  roof  o'ergrown  with  greenest  moss ; 

Of  solid  rock  the  floor. 
I've  shadowed  old  Aunt  Easter  there, 

And  followed  down  the  path, 
To  find  her  busy,  skimming  milk, 

And  met  her  feigned  wrath. 

"  You  little  scamp ;  I  know  yo'  tricks ; 

You  thinks  you's  fine  as  silk ; 
I  knows  you  comes  er  ha'ntin'  'roun' 

Fur  some  er  dis  yer  milk. 
But  you  is  gwinter  miss  yo'  lick 

Dis  time,  I  tells  you  now ; 
Kase  you  ain't  wuff  yo'  daily  salt — 

Dat's  whut  yo'  mammy  'low." 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  33 

But  well  I  knew  Aunt  Easter's  way; 

Her  pretense,  grim  and  stern — 
My  time  would  come  when  she  had  filled 

The  clean,  old  butter  churn. 
"  Come  hyar !     Dis  milk  is  gwinter  spile ; 

Bar's  heap  too  much  today; 
But  dis  is  jes'  de  las'  you  gits — 

You  heah  me,  whut  I  say  ?  " 

So  there  I  sit — across  the  sill — 

And  quaff  the  goodly  bowl ; 
Aunt  Easter's  happy  as  the  boy — 

God  bless  her  dear  old  soul ! 
Since  then,  full  oft,  I've  sought  the  place, 

And  plucked  the  mint  that  grew 
Along  the  branch,  below  the  spring — 

And  found  it  mixed  with  rue. 

I've  drank  the  rich  and  sparkling  wines 

Of  sunny  France  and  Spain, 
And  felt  the  splendid  joys  they  bring; 

Their  misery  and  pain. 
But  no  such  healthful,  hearty  draught 

Will  poet  ever  sing, 
As  that  Aunt  Easter  gave  me,  oft, 

Down  at  the  rocky  spring. 


34  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

THE  OLD  GRINDSTONE. 

I'm  glad  the  old  thing's  broken, 

And  its  bench  is  torn  apart ; 
When  I  was  but  a  sapling 

Of  a  boy,  it  broke  my  heart. 
There  it  lies,  dismantled,  ruined, 

And  'tis  joy  to  see  it  prone, 
That  instrument  of  torture, 

The  old  grindstone. 

I  stand  upon  its  segments — 

Nearly  buried  where  they  lie — 
And  memory  of  that  anguish 

Brings  a  tear  into  my  eye. 
I  am  glad  the  days  of  sorrow, 

That  it  brought  to  me,  have  flown, 
And  I  can  stand  and  stamp  upon 

The  old  grindstone. 

So  many  days  in  summer, 

When  the  fish  were  biting  fine, 
I've  yearned  to  tantalize  them 

With  my  brand-new  hook  and  line, 
But  had  to  work  the  handle 

Until  wearied  to  the  bone, 
And  turn,  till  I  was  dizzy, 

The  old  grindstone. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  35 

At  noontime,  in  the  haying 

When  the  dark  and  grassy  shade 
Was  cooling  and  inviting, 

I  have  felt  my  color  fade 
When  father,  or  big  brother, 

Would  call  in  gruffest  tone : 
•"  Come  here,  you  scamp,  and  turn  awhile 

The  old  grindstone !  " 

I've  made  it  whizz  and  wobble 

Till  the  blade  it  ground  would  ring; 
And  when  it  needed  water, 

I  must  bring  that  from  the  spring ; 
But  when  I  thought  of  resting, 

I  was  "just  a  lazy  drone," 
For  it  seemed  I  was  the  slaveling  of 

The  old  grindstone. 

The  years  are  very  many 

Since  the  trials  of  my  youth, 
And,  though  I've  wished  them  back  again, 

To  tell  the  honest  truth, 
I  think  I'd  rather  bear  the  ills 

Along  my  pathway  strown, 
Than  be  a  boy  and  turn  again 

The  old  grindstone. 


36  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

ON  NEXT  COURT  DAY. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Jim,  thar  ain't  no  use 

To  talk  on  this  no  mo'. 
I've  tuck  a  heap  er  yo'  abuse, 

Fur  sartain  en  fur  sho'. 
We'll  settle  hit  next  time  we  meet- 

You  hear  me  say  my  say — 
An'  that'll  be  plum'  in  the  street, 

In  town  on  county  cote  day." 

"  Say,  Sam,  I  want  to  talk  with  you 

'Bout  clarin'  up  some  groun', 
Now,  tell  me  what  you  wanter  do, 

Fur  cash,  or  dicker,  down." 
"  Well,  I  hain't  fitting  Tom,  jes  now- 

Ain't  in  the  peartest  way— 
But  we  kin  fix  hit  up,  I  'low, 
In  town  on  county  cote  day." 

"  I've  got  a  Glencoe  colt,  Bill  Dick, 

I'll  swop  you  fur  that  mar'. 
His  pedigree  is  pooty  slick, 

En  he  will  be  a  star." 
"  I've  noticed  him  a  time  or  two — 
You  mean  that  gilden  bay  ? — 
Well,  I  kin  tell  you  what  I'll  do 
In  town  on  county  cote  day." 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  3? 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed !     I  hearn  some  talk 

'Bout  nominatin'  Bright ; 
But  he  will  hatter  walk  the  chalk 

Ef  he  gets  thar  all  right. 
Still,  howsumdever,  ef  we  kin, 

The  voters  up  ow  way 
Will  work  a  scheme  to  git  him  in, 

At  town  on  county  cote  day." 

For  fights,  or  trades,  or  politics, 

Or  anything  of  note, 
That  takes  some  leisure  time  to  fix, 

It's  set  for  county  "  cote  " — 
Election  time,  just  now  and  then — 

But  whether  grave  or  gay, 
'Tis  oftenest,  among  these  men, 

"  In  town  on  county  cote  day." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  CALL. 

An  old  gray  house,  on  an  old-time  farm — 

'Twas  on  a  Christmas  night — 
Thro'  chinks  were  streaming  rays  of  charm 

In  yellow  shafts  of  light. 

An  old  gray  white  and  an  old  gray  black 
Were  sitting  by  the  blaze 


38  BLUE  GRASS  BALLADS 

That  curled  and  played  on  the  chimney  back — 
Sat  thinking  their  own  old  ways. 

Said  the  old  black  man  to  the  old  white  man : 
"  Hit's  fawty  yeahs  tonight 
Sense  you  gin  to  me  this  piece  er  Ian', 
An'  the  pootyes'  gal  in  sight. 

"  You  gin  us,  ersides,  dem  papahs,  too, 

Dat  sot  us  bon'  ones  free, 
An'  Nan  an'  me  sung  '  Hally,  Rally  Loo  ! ' 
Lak  er  song  er  jubilee." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  did  ? "  said  the  old  gray  white, 
"  Didn't  both  belong  to  me  ? 
And  didn't  I  have,  by  law,  the  right 
To  set  my  niggahs  free  ? 

"  And,  what  is  more,"  said  the  old  white  man, 
"  My  farm  was  broad  and  long, 
And  didn't  you,  and  your  poor  old  Nan, 
Find  life  a  sweeter  song  ?  " 

"  Lawd  bless  you,  marster,  blessin's  fell 

As  fas'  as  drops  er  rain ; 
Yes,  every  soun'  was  a  silver  bell, 
Till  God  called  Nan  ergain. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  89 

"  But  we  wuz  all  de  slaves  you  had, 

An'  sense  you  b'en  so  po' 

I'se  felt  dat  we  wuz  actin'  bad 

To  wish  for  freedom  so."  * 

"  No  more !  no  more  !  "  said  the  old  white  man  ; 
"  I'm  richer  than  a  king ! 
You  give  me  blessings,  all  you  can ; 
I  need  not  anything. 

"  And,  more  than  all,  am  I  not  blest, 

While  waiting  for  the  call  ? 
I  gave  you  Freedom,  God's  bequest, 
Intended  for  us  all." 


FETCH  OVER  THE  CANOE. 

Oh !  list  the  call  across  the  stream : 

"Who-ee!  Who-ee!" 
'Tis  like  an  echo  in  a  dream ; 
The  mock-bird  laughs  the  cry  anew, 
As  if  some  secret  sweet  he  knew, 
And  'cross  the  rippling  waters  blue 
Comes,  furrowing,  a  gum-canoe. 
"Who-ee!  Who-ee! 
Fetch  over  the  canoe ! " 
I  see  the  bushes  parting, 
And  a  dainty  gown  of  blue. 


40  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

A  laughing  maiden  guides  the  boat ; 

Who-ee!  Who-ee! 
She  seems  a  fairy  there  afloat ; 
The  saucy  mock-bird  flying  screams, 
The  purling  water  glints  and  gleams, 
And  'mong  the  lilies,  crushing  through, 
The  maiden  drives  her  light  canoe. 
Who-ee!  Who-ee! 
Here  lies  the  gum-canoe, 
And  here's  the  laughing  maiden 
In  her  dainty  gown  of  blue. 

Oh,  that  was  long  and  long  ago ! 

Who-ee!  Who-ee! 
No  longer  there  the  lilies  grow ; 
The  woods  are  gone,  the  mock-bird's  flown ; 
A  bridge  across  the  stream  is  thrown ; 
Along  the  shores  a  city  grew ; 
The  maiden's  grave  is  'neath  the  yew. 

Who-ee!  Who-ee! 

Where  is  the  old  canoe  ? 

And  where  the  pretty  maiden, 

In  her  dainty  gown  of  blue  ? 

No  more  the  gold  and  crimson  hints  — 

Who-ee!  Who-ee! 

Of  autumn  there,  the  bank-side  tints ; 
The  maiden's  smile  in  memory  lives ; 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  41 

My  soul  a  sigh  that  memory  gives, 
And  in  my  heart  grows  weeping  rue, 
Mourning  the  maid  and  her  canoe. 

Who-ee!  Who-ee! 

Good-bye,  old  gum-canoe. 

No  more  you'll  bring  the  maiden 

In  her  dainty  gown  of  blue. 


A  SUMMER  NIGHT. 

I  saw  a  disk  of  molten  gold 

Sink  down  against  the  western  edge ; 

Then  cleave  the  purple  of  the  wold 

As  'twere  a  great  and  shining  wedge 
That's  driven  'neath  an  unseen  sledge. 

A  gray  triangle  sweeps  along, 

Toward  the  dark'ning  eastern  line, 

Where  evening  stars  in  twinkling  throng 
Make  merry  at  the  day's  decline ; 
And  lonely  stands  a  sentry  pine. 

Above  the  southern  wood  the  moon 

Swings  up,  a  burnished  silver  wheel ; 

Sad  sounding  comes  the  night-bird's  croon ; 
Along  the  breeze  sweet  odors  steal, 
And  night,  in  summer,  sets  its  seal. 


42  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

SONGS  WE  USED  TO  SING. 

Tenderly  touching  and  sweet  to  the  soul, 

Are  the  songs  we  used  to  sing, 
As  along  the  halls  of  the  years  we  stroll, 

Where  echoing  now  they  ring. 
The  heart  is  filled  with  a  memory  dear 

Of  a  maiden  fond  and  coy, 
And  the  eye  is  dewed  with  a  pitying  tear 

For  the  first  love  of  a  boy. 

So  comes  the  old  song  back  once  more, 
That  oft  we  sang  in  days  of  yore : 

"  Oh  !  don't  you  remember  sweet  Alice,  Ben  Bolt, 
Sweet  Alice  with  hair  so  brown  ? 

She  wept  with  delight  when  you  gave  her  a  smile, 
And  trembled  with  fear  at  your  frown." 

The  mock-bird's  song  and  the  wail  of  the  dove, 

The  "  Bob  White  "  pipe  of  the  quail, 
The  nesting  larks  as  they  twitter  their  love, 

The  beat  of  the  thresher's  flail, 
The  shade  and  the  shine  of  the  dear  old  South, 

And  its  fields  of  waving  corn, 
The  mellow  sound  from  the  vibrant  mouth 

Of  the  welcome  dinner  horn. 

So  comes  the  old  song  back  again, 
In  dulcet  burden  and  refrain : 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  43 

"The  sun  shines  bright  in  the  old  Kentucky 

home, 

Tis  summer,  the  darkies  are  gay ; 
The  corn-top's  ripe  and  the  meadow's  in  the 

bloom, 
While  the  birds  are  making  music  all  the  day." 

The  hevved-log  meeting-house,  deep  in  the  wood, 

Has  gone  with  the  passing  years ; 
A  grass-grown  hillock  now  marks  where  it  stood, 

That  memory  dews  with  her  tears. 
'Twas  old  Mount  Zion,  the  loved  and  the  blest, 

Of  souls  so  simple  and  true, 
And  they  have  gone  to  the  peace  and  the  rest, 

That  lies  'neath  the  sorrowing  yew. 

So  comes  the  old  song  back  once  more, 
That  oft  we  sang  in  days  of  yore : 

"  Here  I'll  raise  my  Ebenezer, 

Hither  by  thy  help  I'll  come ; 
And  I  hope  by  thy  good  pleasure 
Safely  to  arrive  at  home." 

How  swells  the  heart  of  the  patriot  crew, 
Where  proud  the  banner  streams, 

That's  called  "  Old  Glory,"  the  Red,  White  and 

Blue, 
Whose  star-light  flashes  and  gleams 


44  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

From  mountain  to  ocean  and  over  the  seas, 

The  pride  of  a  blessed  land, 
And  long  may  it  wave  in  Columbia's  breeze, 
The  gift  of  a  hero  band. 

So  comes  the  old  song  back  again, 
In  dulcet  burden  and  refrain : 

"  Oh  !  say,  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last 
gleaming  ? " 

Where  in  the  hot  focal  blaze  of  the  fight 

The  war-god  shook  his  sable  plume, 
And  where   the  red-breathed   brazen  cannon's 

blight. 

Deep  dyed  the  field  with  crimson  spume ; 
In  lulls  of  battle,  twixt  the  roars  of  strife, 

Like  laugh  of  children  in  a  gale, 
I've  heard  the  music  of  the  drum  and  fife, 
Playing  amid  the  iron  hail, 

The  game  old  song  that  comes  again, 
In  dulcet  burden  and  refrain : 

"  'Way  down  South,  in  de  land  of  cotton, 
'Simmon  seed  an'  sandy  bottom, 
Lookaway,  lookaway,  lookaway, 

Dixie's  land." 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  45 

OLD-TIME    MELODIES. 

Thin  and  white  are  the  faded  hands, 
That  tremble  o'er  the  ivory  keys, 
'Mong  old-time  melodies  they  reach, 
And  from  the  past  a  cadent  breeze 
Comes  singing  low — so  sweetly  low — 
The  dear  loved  songs  of  long  ago. 

There's  tender  love;  there's  blessed  love; 

There's  joy,  dear  one,  for  you  and  me, 
In  those  sweet  songs  that  come  again, 
To  ripple  mem'ry's  placid  sea ; 
'Tis  echo  of  a  halcyon  time 
Borne  hither  from  a  balmy  clime. 

Such  were  the  songs  you  sung  to  me 

'Mid  roses  and  the  rich  perfume 
That  came  on  zephyrs  from  the  banks 
Embroidered  bright  in  pansy  bloom ; 
They  rose  within  your  pretty  mouth 
Blent  with  the  accent  of  the  South. 

And  I  could  bless  the  ivory  keys, 

That  'neath  the  trembling  finger-tips 
Bring  back  the  songs  of  long  ago. 

That  kissed  my  sweetheart's  crimson  lips  : 
Dear  lips,  fond  lips,  that  yet  are  mine, 
Bedewed  with  love's  own  honeyed  wine. 


46  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

LUCIE  LEE  OF  TENNESSEE. 

I'll  sing  of  dear  old  Tennessee, 

In  the  days  of  long  ago, 
And  sing  of  lovely  Lucie  Lee, 

As  in  the  olden  glow 
We  floated  down  the  rippling  stream, 

In  my  poplar-tree  canoe, 
At  evening-time,  and  lived  the  dream 

And  the  song  of  lovers  true. 

Oh,  Lucie  Lee  of  Tennessee ! 

Though  that  was  long  ago, 
I  love  you  still,  and  ever  will, 

Come  to  me  weal  or  woe ; 
And  yet  again  my  song's  refrain, 

For  you,  my  Lucie  Lee, 
Will  echoing  ring,  as  I  shall  sing, 

Along  the  Tennessee. 

We  rambled  where  wild  flowers  grew, 

And  we  loved  their  sweet  perfume ; 
With  them  we  decked  the  old  canoe 

Till  it  seemed  to  be  in  bloom ; 
Amid  the  pinks  and  columbines, 

As  we  sped  the  boat  along, 
And  'mong  the  honeysuckle  vines, 

We  sang  love's  sweetest  song. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  47 

Then  Lucie  truly  promised  me 

She'd  love  me  evermore, 
And  wait  beside  the  Tennessee, 

And  sing  along  its  shore, 
Till  I  came  back  from  toil  and  strife, 

On  Fortune's  changeful  sea, 
To  claim,  forever,  for  my  wife, 

My  dark-eyed  Lucie  Lee. 

IN  MISSISSIPPI  WOODS. 

Some  blue  spots  dashed  with  springtime  haze, 

Seen  thro'  magnolia  trees  and  bays ; 

The  emerald  green  of  tall  pine  tops, 
A  laggard  breeze,  to  bend  them,  stops ; 

A  crimson  splash  of  maple  bloom, 

A  scent  of  "  sweet  shrub's  "  soft  perfume, 

The  snow  of  dogwood,  hiding  low, 

The  lazy  call  of  a  loafing  crow ; 

The  mock-bird's  laugh,  that  sneering  rings 
Because  an  humbler  songster  sings; 

Of  sun  and  shade  a  perfect  day, 

In  southern  March  like  northern  May. 

We  rambled  there — sweet  Belle  and  I — 
And  heard  the  forest  laugh  and  cry. 
In  maiden  fancy,  bright  and  free, 
She  thought  the  deep  old  woods  a  sea. 


48  BLUE  GRASS  BALLADS 

The  rich-robed  birds,  with  whirr  and  swish, 
In  dashing  by  were  flashing  fish. 

Pine  cones  were  conch  shells  on  the  floor, 
And  soughing  winds  the  ocean's  roar. 

The  great  white  clouds  above  the  tips 
Of  waving  trees,  were  full-sailed  ships, 
With  romance  laden,  for  the  land 
Where  Love  stands  shivering  on  the  strand. 

But  here,  within  the  forest  deep, 
Where  angels  through  the  blue  spots  peep, 
We  wandered  far — sweet  Belle  and  I — 
And  heard  the  forest  laugh  and  cry. 
To  crown  her  sire's  birthday  fete, 
We  gathered  bloom  and  tarried  late. 


DANCING  IN  THE  OLD  TIME. 

For  his  love  of  "  Kerry  dancing," 

Sweet  the  Irish  poet  sings; 
But  to  me  far  more  entrancing, 

As  returned  on  memory's  wings, 
Are  the  dances  and  the  luncheons 

In  the  cabins  long  ago, 
And  the  way  we  shook  the  puncheons 

To  the  strains  of  "Old  Jim  Crow." 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  49 

From  his  chair,  high  on  a  table, 

In  the  happy,  old-time  days, 
There  the  fiddler,  gray  and  sable, 

Stamps  a  foot  and  gaily  plays : 
Plays  his  "  Hear  de  Bells  a-Ringing," 

Then  his  "  Snowbird  at  de  Do'," 
While  he  calls  the  figures,  singing: 

"Swing  dem  cawnders!  "  "Forrid  fo'!" 

His  favorite,  "  Old  Leather  Breeches," 

Rings  thro'  memory  in  my  ear, 
And  his  singing,  "  Full  er  Stitches," 

Blends  with  rattling  "Forked  Deer." 
All  the  girls  in  linsey  dresses, 

All  the  boys  in  homemade  jeans, 
When  they  swing,  each  rascal  presses 

Close  the  girl  that  on  him  leans. 

You  may  have  the  stately  "lancers"; 

Give  me  back  the  other  days, 
And  the  jolly,  romping  dancers, 

Seen  thro'  memory's  thick'ning  haze^ 
Those  were  sweet  days,  I  remember, 

Just  as  these  will  be  to  all, 
When  they  see,  from  life's  November,          ' 

Where  the  length'ning  shadows  fall. 


50  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

THE  KENTUCKIAN'S  LAMENT. 

I  useter  live  in  old  Kaintuck  some  forty  year  ago, 
An'  come  back  here  again,  to  stop,  a  week  er 

two,  er  mo', 
But  now  I'm  goin'  back  out  West,  an'  stay  thar 

too,  my  son, 
'Kase  I  don't  like  the  changes  that  the  times  has 

gone  an'  done. 

Thar  useter  be  a  little  crick  a  'runnin'  'neath  this 

hill, 
An'  furder  down  thar  useter  stan'  a  monst'ous 

fine  old  mill ; 
I've  waded  in  that  little  crick,  an'  fished  fur  min- 

ners  thar, 
An'  watched  the  mus'rats  divin'  in  the  water 

fresh  an'  clar. 

I  useter  ride  a  grist  to  mill — a  sack  er  Injun 

cawn — 
Jis'  many  a  time,  in  them  old  days,  so  long  'fo' 

you  was  bawn ; 
An'  me  an'  all  the  yuther  boys — in  winter  time, 

you  know — 
Was  parchin'  cawn,  an'  swappin'  lies  ontell  we 

had  to  go. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  51 

That  little  crick  has  gone  plum*  dry,  the  mill  is 

all  to'  down, 
An'  blamed  ef  they  ain't  tuck  the  spot  to  build 

er  onry  town, 
An'  where  the  big-road  useter  run  thar's  growin' 

weeds  an'  grass, 
An'  thar's  a  cut,  clean  thro'  the  hill,  fur  railroad 

kyars  to  pass. 

Them  shell-bark  hick'ry  trees  is  gone,  whar  me 

an'  yo'  Aunt  Sue, 
Has  gather'd  nuts,  so  many  falls,  when  we  was 

size  er  you ; 
An'  over  yan,  whar  houses  stan'  along  the  south 

hill  side, 
Thar  stood  the  woods,  an'  pawpaws  growed  an' 

possums  useter  hide. 

The  boys  as  useter  play  with  me,  when  I  was  but 

a  kid, 
Has  all  turned  gray — 'cep'  them  that's  bald — 

an'  some  the  ground  has  hid ; 
An'  stid  er  jeans,  an'  home'ade  socks,  an'  all  the 

like  er  that, 
Sto'  close  is  all  the  go,  mer  son,  them  an'  the— 

bee-gum  hat. 


52  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

The  sasser  ain't  no  longer  used  to  po'  yo'  coffee 

in, 
An'  eatin'  with  yo'  knife  has  grow'd  to  be  a 

mortal  sin; 
An'  what  is  wuss  than  all  the  rest,  an'  seems  to 

me  mos'  quar* 
Cocktails,  an'  sich  like  truck  as  that,  has  knock'd 

out  whisky  clar. 

These  things  is  much  too  much  for  me.     It's 

broke  my  heart  in  two, 
It's  ru'nous  to  the  country,  an'  it  aint'er  goin' 

ter  do ; 
I'm  goin'  back — you  hear  me  shout — clean  back 

to  Washin'tun ; 
I  wanter  find  Old  Skookumchuck,  an'  stay  thar, 

too,  mer  son. 


DOWN  SOUTH, 
i. 

Tis  summer  in  the  quiet  land  of  bloom, 
'Neath  skies  that  winter  never  knew; 

In  forests  deep  the  dusky  cypress  plume 
Nods  where  the  wild-vine  tendrils  clew 

Among  the  humbler  growth,  beneath  the  shade 
Of  centuried  and  hoary  oaks, 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  53 

And  where  the  rainbow-tinted  sunbeams  fade 
Under  the  long  and  trailing  cloaks 

Of  mosses,  bannered  to  the  lofty  boughs, 
That  weave  a  close  and  leafy  screen, 

For  nooks  where  fly-begoaded  cattle  browse, 
In  covers  cool,  of  grateful  green. 

ii. 

Before  the  facade  of  the  deep,  dark  wood, 

The  fallow-fields  and  pastures  lie ; 
And  ripening  harvests,  teeming,  rich  and  good, 

Give  pleasing  promise  to  the  eye. 
Among  the  china  and  the  orange  trees, 

And  flowers  of  myriad  dye, 
And  jasmine  vines,  that  in  each  balmy  breeze 

Their  gay  and  golden  showers  fly, 
There  stands,  with  open  doors,  a  planter's  home, 

And  stillness  reigns  about  its  halls, 
Except  the  sound  of  bees  around  the  comb, 

Or  ring-dove's  low  and  distant  calls. 

m. 

The  sunflower  droops  in  comely  grace 
Before  the  day-king's  fervid  rays — 

A  Clytie  fair,  who  bends  her  modest  face 
Beneath  Apollo's  ardent  gaze. 

A  shimmering  haze  is  in  the  air, 
The  mocking  bird  his  riot  stills, 


54  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

The  river  glints  beneath  the  sun's  fierce  glare, 
And  mists  hang  o'er  the  far-off  hills. 

The  pigeons  croon  beneath  the  eaving-frieze, 
A  kitten  sleeps  in  "  mammy's  "  lap, 

And  in  a  hammock,  swung  betwixt  two  trees, 
"  Old  marster  "  takes  his  noon-tide  nap. 


OLD  MART  AN'  ME. 

Hit's  been  so  monstrous  long  ago  it  seems  jes 

like  a  dream, 
Sence  we  was  only  chunks  er  boys — a  rough-an' 

tumble  team — 
That  useter  dam  the  spring  house  branch  an'  set 

up  flutter  wheels, 
An'  work  so  dead  in  arnest  that  we  often  miss'd 

our  meals, 
An'  sometimes  fit  en  quarreled  till  we  war  a 

sight  to  see, 

An'  frequent  we  got  licked  for  that, 
Old  Mart  an'  me. 

Time  come  we  had  to  go  to  school — some  furder 

en  a  mile — 
But  what  we  larnt,   until  this  day,  jis   sorter 

makes  me  smile ; 
'Twas  little  mo  than  nuthin',  en  we  got  it,  inch 

by  inch, 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  55 

While  the  teacher  lammed  it  to  us,  till  we  had 

the  mortal  cinch  * 

On  everything  the  old  man  knowed,  plum  to  the 
rule  of  three, 

But  frequent  we  got  licked  for  that, 
Old  Mart  an'  me. 

We  was  raised  on  farms  adjinin'  with  plenty  all 

aroun' 
But  still  we'd  skip  off,  atter  dark,  an'  pole  away 

to  town, 
Three  mile,  up  hill,  ef  'twar  a  foot,  an'  jine  the 

boys  up  there, 
To  eat  sardines,  and  smoke  seegyars,  an'  have  a 

sort  of  "tare," 
Or  rob  a  neighbor's  million  patch — for  deviltry, 

you  see, 

But  frequent  we  got  licked  for  that, 
Old  Mart  an'  me. 

At  spellin'  bouts  and  singin'  school,  thar's  whar 

we  useter  shine ; 
We  couldn't  spell  a  little  bit,  ner  sing  so  mighty 

fine, 
But  when  it  come  to  courtin'  gals  an'  seein'  of 

'em  home, 
Why  we  was  thar,  an'  you  hear  me,  'twas  honey 

in  the  comb, 


56  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

Then  Widder  Kane  got  married,  an'  we  raised  a 
shivaree — 

But  didn't  we  get  licked  for  that, 
Old  Mart  and  me ! 

When  finally  the  war  broke  loose,  an'  Mart  an' 
me  went  in, 

One  time  we  struck  a  scrimmage  that  was  live- 
lier en  sin ; 

We  had  it,  back  an'  forrards,  twict,  acrost  a 
cotton  patch — 

You  never  seed,  in  all  yo'  life,  a  hotter  shootin' 
match — 

I  got  a  plug  clean  th'oo  my  leg,  an'  him  one  in 
the  knee, 

So,  we  got  sorter  licked  at  that 
Old  Mart  and  me. 

We've  had  some  ups  and  downs  in  life,  and 

growin'  kinder  old, 
With  hearts  as  warm  as  ever,  an'  they  never  will 

get  cold. 
So  fur  as  him  an'  me's  consarned;  not  even 

over  thar, 
When  all  are  called  to  answer  at  the  final  jedg- 

ment  bar, 
For  friendship's  close  to  holiness,  and  blamed 

ef  I  can  see, 

How  we'll  get  licked  a  bit  for  that, 
Old  Mart  an'  me. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  5  7 

HARP  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

"  Harp  of  the  North,"  the'Wizard  sang, 

And  tuned  his  glowing  lays 
'Mid  gallant  deeds  and  battle's  clang 

And  clan  to  clan's  affrays. 
Could  I  but  sing  so  sweet  a  song — 

And  strong  as  Scotia's  bard, 
I'd  ring  the  charge  of  every  wrong 

Till  tyranny  set  guard ; 
More  fit,  for  me,  a  sweet  refrain 

Of  home  and  long  ago, 
Harp  of  the  South,  I  strike  again 

The  dear,  old,  quaint  banjo. 
No  organ's  diapason  swell, 

In  grand  cathedral,  dim, 
E'er  on  the  heart  of  novice  fell, 

In  vesper's  sacred  hymn, 
With  more  impress  of  love  and  soul, 

And  deep  devotion  true, 
Than  Southern  song  to  mem'ry's  goal 

Thus  borne,  my  harp,  by  you. 

And  now  I  sing,  to  the  banjo  ring, 

In  tune  by  memory  led, 
And  hear  a  sound  like  whispers  'round 

The  grave  of  the  Past,  long  dead ; 


58  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

'Tis  a  whir  and  a  hum, 

And  a  doleful  thrum, 
But  music  my  heart  can  feel — 

I  hear  as  before, 

In  days  of  yore, 
Black  mammy's  spinning  wheel. 

It  brings  me  joy,  as  when  a  boy 

I  sat  in  her  cabin  door, 
And  heard  her  sing  to  the  spindle's  ring, 
As  she  paced  the  "puncheon  "  floor; 

From  the  dawn  to  the  gloam, 

In  the  old  South  home, 
A  mammy  true,  black  and  leal, 

She  trudged  to  and  fro, 

In  the  long  ago, 
And  wrought  at  her  spinning  wheel. 

How  blest  the  days,  how  sweet  the  ways, 

That  Kate  and  I  saw  then— 
My  sister  Kate,  whom  God  and  fate, 
Have  taken  to  His  Aidenn. 

Now  'neath  the  orange  trees, 

Kissed  by  each  balmy  breeze, 
That  thro'  magnolias  steal, 

Under  the  bloom 

Lies  Katie's  tomb, 
And  still's  the  spinning  wheel. 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  59 

IN  MEXICO. 

I  loved  a  maid  in  Mexico, 

A  dark-eyed  senorita,  kind  and  sweet 
And  tho'  that  was  so  long  ago, 

My  heart  is  still  a  captive  at  her  feet. 
Oft  thro'  her  latticed  balcony,  and  long, 

I've  watched  her  thrum  the  light  guitar,      ( 
And  heard  her  sing  the  gay  bolero  song, 
My  love,  my  life,  my  Mexic  star. 
I  see  her  eyes,  so  dark  and  bright, 

And  hear  her  voice,  so  soft  and  low ; 
Tis  living  in  my  soul  tonight, 
With  dreams  of  her  and  Mexico. 

She's  waiting  there,  in  Mexico, 

My  dark-haired  maid,  my  sweetheart,  fond 

and  true ; 
She'll  wait  for  me,  where  'er  I  go, 

With  love  as  pure  and  fresh  as  honey-dew. 
Her  great  black  eyes,  so  tender  and  so  deep, 

Will  watch  for  me,  and  brightly  beam 
To  hear  my  name,  and  faithfully  she'll  keep 
Her  troth,  as  fair  as  angel's  dream. 
So  come,  fair  fortune,  come  to  me ; 

I  long  to  go,  I  long  to  go, 
Across  the  land  and  Southern  sea, 
To  dear  Inez,  in  Mexico. 


60  BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS 

CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  OLE  TIME. 

Now,  love,  come  and  sing  with  me, 
Within  this  home  beside  the  sea ; 
And  sit  you,  daughter,  at  my  knee, 

To  help  the  homely  rhyme. 
I'll  sing  of  days  ere  you  were  born : 
Of  apples  and  the  gathered  corn ; 
Of  darkies  and  the  dinner  horn, 

And  Christmas  in  the  ole  time. 

We'll  tune  the  banjo  to  the  lay, 
And  make  the  music  light  and  gay, 
For  that,  my  loved  ones,  was  the  way 

Of  "we-all,"  in  the  prime 
And  happy  days  of  long  ago, 
When  Uncle  Jube  and  Mammy  Chlo' 
Made  jolly  times  like  honey  flow 

For  Christmas  in  the  ole  time. 

More  love  shines  in  black  mammy's  face ; 
More  joy  pervades  the  old  home  place ; 
The  sun  streams  down  with  softer  grace  ; 

The  distant  church  bell's  chime 
Has  sweeter  music  in  its  ring ; 
More  merrily  the  darkies  sing, 
And  jollier  greetings  meetings  bring, 

In  Christmas  in  the  ole  time. 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS  61 

The  stillicide  of  honey-bees ; 

The  grateful  scent  of  od'rous  trees  ; 

The  balmy,  perfume-laden  breeze 

Of  that  dear  sunny  clime, 
And  all  the  happiness  and  glee 
Are  borne  on  memory's  wing  to  me, 
At  home  beside  this  western  sea, 

Of  Christmas  in  the  ole  time. 


Christmas  eve — the  old  plantation — 
See  the  quarters  blaze  with  light ; 

Hear  the  fiddle,  bones  and  banjo ; 
People  there  are  gay  tonight. 

Listen  to  the  leader  sing : 

"  Jine  de  song,  you  sassy  niggahs  !" 
Hear  the  hearty  chorus  ring : 

"  Dat's  all  right,  you  call  de  figgahs  !" 

Dar's  ole  Marster,  good  en  true ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo  ! 
Ole  Mistiss,  she  is  dat  way,  too ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 
Young  Mars  Jim  en  sweet  Miss  Sue  — 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 
Lawd  bless  all  ole  Marster's  crew ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 


BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

Sing  wid  all  yo'  might  en  main, 
Christmas,  it  am  here  again ; 
Christmas  come  but  once  a  year ; 
Wen  it  come  we  has  a  sheer ; 
Ah  ha,  oo  hoo  ! 

Turkey,  he  am  mighty  proud ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 
Struttin'  roun'  en  gobblin'  loud ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 
I'll  pick  his  bone  en  spread  his  wing ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo  ! 
Chickin's  neck  I'se  gwine  to  wring ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo ! 

Sing  wid  all  yo'  might  en  main, 
Christmas,  it  am  here  again ; 
Christmas  come  but  once  a  year ; 
Wen  it  come  we  has  a  sheer ; 

Ah  ha,  oo  hoo  ! 

Thus,  and  long,  in  sweet  concordance, 
Come  the  song  and  quaint  refrain, 

Trooping  merrily  and  welcome 

Down  the  years  in  mem'ry's  train. 

Daylight  comes,  and  Christmas  morning 

Glides  in  through  the  eastern  rift, 
And  the  "people" — old  and  young  ones — 
"  Ketch  "  the  white  folks'  "  Christmas  gift." 


BLUE   GRASS  BALLADS  63 

Mammy  herds  the  whooping  youngsters — 
White  and  black — within  her  call ; 

Mistress  scatters  Christmas  presents 
From  the  quarters  to  the  hall. 

Master  storms,  in  anger's  pretense, 

In  and  out,  about  the  place, 
But  the  soul  of  all  his  goodness 

Glistens  in  his  jolly  face. 

Love  and  joy,  with  song  and  dancing, 

In  the  olden  Southern  ways, 
Tinted  with  the  holy  story, 

Sped  the  happy  holidays. 

Now  the  banjo — harp  of  Southland — 

Tuned  with  us  in  homely  rhyme, 
Rest,  and  with  it,  'neath  the  willow, 
"  Christmas  in  the  ole  time." 


WHEN  THE  JULEPS  RIPE. 

Ole  marster's  feelin'  mighty  fine, 
En  I  kin  tell  what's  on  his  mine', 
In  cose  de  race  time  has  to  do 
Some  little  wid  his  feelin's  too, 
But  dat  what's  mos'ly  pleasin'  him, 
An'  puttin'  him  in  sich  good  trim, 


64  BLUE    GRASS  BALLADS 

Is  sompen  of  another  stripe- 
Hit's  dem  mint  juleps  gittin'  ripe. 

Fo'  long  you'll  hear  him  callin'  me, 
An'  sayin' :     "  Go,  you  scamp,  an'  see 
Ef  you  ca'  fine  some  mint  dat's  fit 
To  make  a  julep ;  en  ef  hit 
Is  high  ernuff  fur  dat,  w'y  take 
Dem  talks'  sprigs  en  go  en  make 
Dat  soothin'  draff,  en  bring  it  here, 
En  you'll  have  easy  times  dis  year." 

Den  I  gwine  take  er  lump  er  two 
Er  nice  cut  shugar — hear  me  th'oo — 
En  'solve  it  in  some  water — um  !— 
Den  take  erbout  er  gill  er  rum, 
En  'bout  three  fingers  whisky  straight, 
En  mix  'em  all — now  ca'  you  wait  ? 
Den  jis  fo'  sprigs  er  mint  in  dar, 
En  han'  him  dat  mint  julep,  sah. 

Hit  do  me  good  to  see  him  drink, 
En  smack  he  lips,  an'  set  an'  think 
How  long  dat  mint  is  gwineter  las' ! 
But  hit'll  go,  mos'  monst'ous  fas'. 
An'  all  dat  time  I  gwine  to  be 
Right  close  to  him,  whar  I  kin  see 
Him  smoke  dat  big  ole  cawncob  pipe, 
En  'joy  dem  juleps  when  dey's  ripe. 


Other  Verse 


Other  Verse 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  VIOLIN. 

'Mid  the  silken  perfumed  elegance, 

Within  a  stately  house, 
I've  heard  its  rich  tones  ringing 

Through  the  'wilder ings  of  Strauss, 
And  I've  heard  the  sigh  of  gentle  ones 

Who  listened  while  it  bore 
To  charmed  hearts,  the  sweetness 

Of  the  touching  "Trovatore." 

I've  heard  it  in  the  evening, 

Within  a  quiet  home, 

Sing  "  Swanee  River  "  till  the  bees 

Came  humming  'round  the  comb ; 
'Mid  the  phases  of  the  wassail 

And  the  joys  of  festal  cheer, 
I've  heard  it  change  from  gay  to  grave, 

From  lively  to  severe. 

In  tender  tones  of  pleading ; 

In  sighs  of  spent  delight ; 
In  greetings  to  the  morning 

And  in  good-byes  to  the  night ; 


67 


68  OTHER  VERSE 

In  storms  upon  the  ocean 
And  in  the  songs  of  birds, 

I've  heard  its  voice,  like  a  living  thing, 
In  sweetest  human  words. 

I've  heard  it  give,  stentorian, 

Command  in  battle's  blare, 
And  heard  it  whisper,  soft  and  low, 

Like  angels  in  the  air. 
'Mong  brawny  men,  in  mining  camps, 

I've  seen  it  hush  a  brawl, 
Till  clenched  hands  are  open  palms 

That  in  each  other  fall. 

I've  seen  it  gather  little  ones 

About  the  player's  knee, 
As  did  the  babes  of  olden  time 

'Round  Him  of  Galilee. 
And  to  it  oft  I've  listened, 

Till  all  the  world  was  kin, 
While  lovingly  its  master  played 

The  Governor's  violin. 


OTHER  VERSE  69 

THE  BARBARIAN. 

A  grim,  barbaric  warrior  heard 

How  Christ  was  crucified ; 
How  meek  and  uncomplainingly 

He  bent  His  head  and  died. 
He  heard,  aghast,  the  dreadful  tale, 

Then  seethed  with  wrath  his  brain : 
"  Had  I  been  there  with  three-score  men, 

The  Christ  had  not  been  slain !  " 

As  thus  he  spoke  he  fiercely  grasped 

The  handle  of  his  brand ; 
In  knots  his  brawny  muscles  stood 

And  he  austere  and  grand. 
"Where  were  His  brave  defenders  then?" 

The  chieftain  might  have  asked, 
Had  he  but  longer  in  the  light 

Of  Christian  knowledge  basked — 
"  Where,  then,  the  zealous  champions 

Who  thousands  since  have  slain — 
The  '  unbelievers  '  slaughtered 

By  inquisitors  in  Spain, 

And  in  '  Bloody  Mary's  '  reign  ?  " 

As  'twas  he  questioned  eagerly  : 
"  Where  were  the  God-man's  friends — 
They  for  whose  immortal  souls 
He  bent  His  aims  and  ends  ? 


70  OTHER   VERSE 

Stood  they  about  and  raised  no  hand 

To  stay  the  murd'rous  deed? 
Where  were  their  love  and  fortitude 

In  this  high  time  of  need  ? 
And  where  the  healed  in  sight  and  limb, 

Who  sought  the  Nazarene, 
And  touched  His  garments  full  of  faith 

That  this  would  make  them  clean? " 

"  We  are  fighting  yet  His  holy  cause," 

A  churchman  stoutly  said : 
"  His  name  shall  be  our  Shibboleth, 

Till  all  his  foes  are  dead." 
And  yet  the  grim  barbarian 

Clutched  hard  his  sword  and  cried, 
"  Had  I  been  there  with  three-score  men 

Christ  Jesus  had  not  died — 

He'd  not  been  crucified !  " 


HERE'S  TO  YOU,  MY  BROTHER. 

My  friend  and  I — I  love  him — 
God  bless  the  skies  above  him, 

Wherever  'neath  their  azure  he  may  be — 
We  were  lads  the  time  I  speak  of, 
And  now  we  hear  the  creak  of 

The  frost  that  chills  the  branches  of  life's  tree. 


OTHER   VERSE.  71 

We  wandered  in  the  mountains, 
And  we  played  beneath  the  fountains 

That  tumbled  down  the  overhanging  steep, 
And  we  swam  amid  the  driftings 
Of  the  autumn's  somber  siftings, 

From  the  trees  of  woodland  pastures,  neck  deep. 

Then  the  winter  came,  and  flurries 
Of  the  snow,  in  flights  and  scurries, 

Laid  the  ermine  covers  deep  upon  the  earth; 
And  the  woods  and  halls  were  ringing 
With  our  happy  shouts  and  singing, 

The  echoes  of  the  season's  joy  and  mirth. 

But  those  years  succeeding  morrows 
Brought  care,  and  age,  and  sorrows. 

And  the  struggles  life  allots  to  earnest  men ; 
They  are  mountains  that  divide  us, 
And  the  fountains  oft  deride  us 

When  we  seek  to  bring  dear  boyhood  back  again. 

But  the  years  have  come  unceasing, 
Bringing  joy,  and  care,  increasing, 

And  there's  compensation  sweet  within  it  all ; 
For  love  from  loved  ones  found  us, 
And  that  fond  delight  surrounds  us, 

As  a  vine-clad,  safe  and  flower-covered  wall. 

So,  here's  to  you,  my  brother ; 
Though  far  from  one  another, 


72  OTHER  VERSE 

Let  us  drain  the  cup  of  good  will  from  the  brim, 
And  thank  dear  God  above  us, 
That  around  are  those  who  love  us, 

While  we  sing,  again,  a  cheering  Christmas  hymn. 


REFUGIUM. 

There  is  no  sweeter  song  than  this ; 
'Tis  holy  as  a  mother's  kiss ; 
And,  oh,  what  promising  of  bliss ! 

The  song  from  Zion,  bright  and  blest : 
Come  unto  me ;  come  unto  me, 
All  ye  that  labor  weariedly, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest. 

So  said  the  Master  long  ago, 
And  now  'tis  heaven's  song  echo, 
Flung  back  from  Zion's  hills  that  glow, 

In  golden  splendor  there  on  high ; 
A  sweet  and  peaceful  song  of  love, 
That  comes  as  came  the  Jordan  dove, 

God's  token  from  on  high. 

In  gentle  vibrance,  on  the  strings 
Of  human  hearts,  the  music  rings. 
And  cheeringly  an  angel  sings 

To  them  that  labor,  sore  opprest : 
In  time,  beside  the  Great  White  Throne 
The  Nazarene  will  claim  His  own, 

And  He  will  give  you  rest. 


OTHER  VERSE 

A  CRITIC'S  REWARD. 

Zo-i-lus  was  a  critic, 

In  very  ancient  days, 
And  he  dearly  loved  to  pounce  upon 

Another  fellow's  lays ; 
So  to  Apollo,  one  fine  day, 

A  fearful  screed  he  took 
In  which  he'd  torn  the  flinders 

From  another  fellow's  book. 

And  could  you  find  no  good,  at  all  ? " 

Apollo  asked  the  critic. 
The  latter  rolled  his  milky  eyes, 

And  in  a  breath  mephitic 
From  long  confinement,  musty  rooms, 

And  places  dank  and  sad, 
Declared  himself :  "  I  know  no  good ; 

Tis  mine  to  seek  the  bad." 

Then  the  god  gave  to  the  critic 

A  bundle — with  a  laugh — 
;<  'Tis  wheat  unwinnowed  ;  you  may  have, 

For  your  reward,  the  chaff." 


74  OTHER   VERSE 

MOUNT  OF  THE  HOLY  CROSS. 

Where  Nature's  God  hath  roughest  wrought 

Where  spring  the  purest  fountains ; 

Where,  long  ago,  the  Titans  fought, 

And  hurled,  for  missiles,  mountains ; 

Where  everlasting  snows  abide, 

And  tempest  clouds  are  driven 

Along  the  solid  granite  side 

Of  yawning  chasms,  riven 

Deep  in  the  Rockies'  grandest  pride, 

That  lifts  its  head  to  Heaven ; 

Amid  the  wilds,  where  awful  rise 

The  giant  peaks  that  fathom 

Night's  starry  depths  and  day's  blue  skies, 

And  brood  above  the  chasm, 

One  monarch  'mongst  the  mighty  hills 

Rears  high  his  summit  hoary, 

Like  some  grim  king,  whose  legend  fills 

A  page  of  olden  story, 

And  heart  o'erawes  and  soul  enthrills, 

Before  his  regal  glory. 

The  Holy  Cross  of  Christian  faith, 
Above  the  royal  velvet, 
In  beauty  shines,  an  emblem  wraith, 
High  on  his  beetling  helmet ; 


OTHER  VERSE  75 

Its  white  arms  stretching  through  the  sheen 

Of  silvery  mist,  are  gleaming ; 

A  talisman,  the  world  to  screen, 

Hope's  symbol,  in  its  seeming ; 

A  wonder  grand,  a  joy  serene, 

Upon  the  ages  beaming. 


BABY'S  MORNING. 

When  morning  comes  and  sunlight  streams 

In  tender,  soft  and  golden  gleams, 

And  through  the  curtains'  dancing  beams 

Steal  coyly  in  the  room, 
My  baby  wakes  in  grave  surprise, 
And  turns  her  great  and  wondering  eyes 
Toward  the  shimmering  matin  dyes 

That  tint  the  lily  bloom. 

'Tis  double  morn  to  thee,  sweet  one — 
The  morn  of  day  and  a  life  begun — 
God  grant  thy  day  and  life-time's  sun 

May  ever  sweetly  shine ; 
That  happiness  without  alloy, 
That  cannot  fail  or  ever  cloy, 
And  brightest  rays  of  purest  joy, 

May  bless  each  hour  of  thine. 


76  OTHER  VERSE 

THE  GOURD  BESIDE  THE  SPRING. 

The  gallant  knight,  in  days  of  old, 

Sang  gaily  flagon  songs  ; 
The  monarch  drained  his  cup  of  gold 

And  laughed  his  people's  wrongs ; 
With  goblets,  flowing  to  the  brim, 

Bacchantes  drink  their  wine, 
But  no  alluring  rosy  rim 

Brings  song  to  harp  of  mine. 

Yet  notes  of  memory  sweetly  come 

In  songs  I  love  to  sing, 
Of  hearty,  healthy  bumpers,  from 

The  gourd  beside  the  spring. 

The  soldier  loves  his  old  canteen, 

And  sounds  in  song  its  praise ; 
The  lover  toasts  his  mistress  queen 

In  wine-begotten  lays ; 
The  soul  of  poesy's  outpoured 

Alike  to  cup  and  king, 
And  all  forget  the  brown  old  gourd 

They  drank  from  at  the  spring. 

There's  happiness  in  banquet  halls, 

Amid  the  bright  and  gay, 
Where  brilliant  song  the  soul  enthralls, 

And  wit  and  wine  hold  sway ; 


OTHER   VERSE  77 

But  all  the  joys  in  memory  stored 
No  sweeter  thought  can  bring 

Than  those  of  draughts  from  out  the  gourd, 
With  Nell,  beside  the  spring. 


A  LITTLE  SHOE. 

Thar  ain't  much  poetry,  that's  a  fact, 

In  a  pa'r  of  worn  out  shoes, 
But  I've  seen  truck  agoin',  that  lacked 

As  much  of  soul,  or  the  muse. 

I've  got  a  shoe,  'bout's  big's  my  thumb, 

All  gone  at  the  heel  and  toe, 
That  makes  my  poor  old  heartstrings  thrum 

To  the  tune  of  long  ago. 

It's  the  shoe  of  a  little  baby  boy, 
Who  was  two  or  three  worlds  to  me, 

He  come  and  went,  and  took  all  the  joy 
That  ever  I  reckon  to  see. 

The  mother  that  bore  him  went  along, 
And  it  broke  my  heart  in  two ; 

Sometimes  I  hear  her  lullaby  song 
When  I'm  holding  that  tiny  shoe. 


78  OTHER  VERSE 

And  I  hear  the  patter  of  wee  small  feet, 
That  fitted  it  when  it  was  new, 

But  all  that's  left  is  the  memory  sweet 
And  the  little  worn  out  shoe. 

Thar  ain't  no  poetry,  much,  in  this, 
But  I  think  I've  got  the  clue 

To  a  road  that  leads  to  a  mite  of  bliss, 
If  I  follow  this  baby  shoe. 


SANDY  McCANN. 

To  say  that  the  hair  of  young  Sandy  McCann 
Was  auburn,  was  putting  it  fine,  for  the  man 
Had  a  head  that  just  blazed,  like  the  bird  that 

we  see 

A  'driving  his  bill  in  the  cottonwood  tree. 
But  Sandy  delighted  to  stray  from  his  home 
And  wander  about  'neath  the  blue  ether  dome. 

'Twas  thus  it  once  happened,  when  near  his  life's 

prime, 

That  Sandy  was  gone  such  a  very  long  time — 
A  decade  or  more — that  his  business  and  kin 
Much  needed  to  know  of  the  parts  he  was  in. 
And  thus  the  great  search  was  so  ably  begun 
To  find  the  locale  of  the  wandering  one. 


OTHER  VERSE  79 

His  starting  was  traced  to  a  place  where  a  man, 
Had  met  on  the  Mexican  border,  McCann, 
And  a  girl  with  red  hair,  about  sixteen  or  so, 
Said  her  father  was  Sandy,  and  ten  years  ago, 
As  she  had  oft  heard,  from  her  mother's  own 

mouth, 
Had  shouldered  his  traps  and  had  gone  further 

south. 

So  trav'ling  along,  through  the  land  of  the  sun, 
Where  people  were  gen'rally  black-haired  and 

dun, 
One  day  they  brought  up,  with  a  well-founded 

j°y» 

At  a  ranch  where  they  saw  a  bright,  red-headed 

boy, 
Whose  name  was  McCann,  but  his  father,  he 

said, 
Left  six  years  before  and  they  thought  he  was 

dead. 

Undaunted,  the  searchers  forwent  needed  rest 
And  pushed  further  south,  with  their  clue  and 

their  quest, 

'Till,  worn  out  and  hungry,  one  blazing  hot  day, 
Far  down  in  Tabasco  on  Campeachy  Bay, 
They  ran  into  cover  a  red-headed  child, 
Unkempt  and  disheveled,  and  very  near  wild. 


80  OTHER  VERSE 

But  Sandy,  the  papa,  had  traveled  some  more, 
So  footsore  and  weary  they  turned  from  the 

shore, 

Back  over  the  mountains  and  on  to  the  plain, 
In  hope  to  recover  the  trail  once  again, 
And  fortune  soon  blest,  with  its  fullness,  their 

zeal, 
And  turned  threatened  woe  to  the  welcomest 

weal. 

On  a  rough,  wooden  bench,  by  a  "  dobey's  "  deep 

door, 
One  eve,  at  the  gloam,  they  saw   Sandy  once 

more. 

He  trotted  a  red-headed  babe  on  his  knee, 
And  sang  an  old  song,  with  great  gusto  and  glee, 
So  this  is  the  story,  about  as  it  ran, 
Of  the  fiery  trail  of  one  Sandy  McCann. 


CHIQUITA,  LA  BONITA. 

Great  black  eyes,  with  look  so  tender, 
That  they  seem,  almost,  to  weep ; 

Hand  that's  taper,  brown  and  slender, 
Shades  them,  peering  up  the  steep, 

From  the  "  dobey  "  on  the  mesa, 
Where  the  sun  forever  shines, 


OTHER   VERSE  81 

'Long  the  foothill,  where  the  gazer 
Sees  amid  the  tangled  vines 
And  the  crooked  manzanita, 
Su  Chiquita! 
La  bonita. 

There's  a  little  Mexic  maiden, 

Golden-haired  and  eyes  of  blue, 
With  the  springtime  flowers  laden, 

Climbing  down  from  where  they  grew. 
Dusky-haired  and  dark-eyed  mother — 

Though  mayhap  the  question's  bold — 
Whence  those  eyes  of  some  one  other, 
Whence  the  shining  locks  of  gold  ? 
Tell  me,  handsome  Josepheta, 
Of  Chiquita, 
La  bonita. 

Ah  I  I  see  yon  caballero, 

Riding  thither  down  the  trail — 
Now  he  lifts  his  broad  sombrero, 
Shouts  the  Saxon's  hearty  hail, 
And  the  flax-haired  caballero 

Has  Chiquita' s  eyes  of  blue, 
Shaded  by  his  slouch  sombrero 
Pretty  answer  that  is,  too. 
For  the  handsome  Josepheta, 
And  Chiquita, 
La  bonita. 


82  OTHER  VERSE 

MY  MOTHER'S  WEDDING  RING. 

I  remember  when  that  circlet 

Was  a  heavy  golden  band, 
And  how  chastely  rich  it  shone  upon 

Her  plump  and  pretty  hand. 
As  boy  and  man,  I've  often  seen 

Pure  gems,  serene  and  rare, 
Gleam  brightly  on  the  same  dear  hand, 

So  tender,  true  and  fair. 

Those  jewels,  like  the  fleeting  joys 

That  come,  and  glow,  and  go, 
With  all  of  Fortune's  transient  gifts, 

And  many  a  weighing  woe, 
Have  gone,  as  go  all  friends  and  days, 

With  every  hope  or  care : 
But  still  the  plain  gold  wedding  ring 

Shines  true  and  faithful  there. 

Those  dear,  old  hands  are  trembling  now 

Beneath  the  weight  of  years 
And  fragile,  thin,  has  grown  the  band 

That  linked  her  joys  and  tears, 
But  to  a  loving,  grateful  son 

There  is  no  blessed  thing 
In  all  the  world  so  holy  as 

His  mother's  wedding  ring. 


OTHER  VERSE  83 

THE  POET  KING. 

A  quiet  man,  of  gentle  face, 

Yet  noble  mien  and  courtly  grace, 

To  need  and  sorrow  wed ; 
For  lack  of  gold  his  worth  untold, 
And  jealous  Fame  speaks  not  his  name, 

But  waits  till  he  is  dead. 

He  sat  beside  a  limpid  stream 
And  saw  its  lucent  waters  gleam 

In  jewels  rich  and  rare ; 
And  in  the  hue  of  Heaven's  blue 
An  angel  face  of  gentle  grace 

Was  sweetly  mirrored  there. 

He  saw  the  flowers  bloom  and  blush 
From  cordial  morn  till  evening's  hush, 

And  listened  to  the  lay 
Of  cooing  dove,  so  full  of  love, 
And  drank  the  breeze  that  kissed  the  trees, 

In  happy,  hoyden  play. 

He  lived  in  contemplation  high, 
Of  all  the  glories  of  the  sky, 

And  sweetest  lessons  took 
From  earth  and  air ;  the  bright  and  fair 
Of  every  place  and  age  and  race ; 

And  read  from  Nature's  book. 


84  OTHER  VERSE 

And  now  he  sits  upon  a  throne, 
A  monarch  in  a  realm,  his  own, 

And  holds  the  universe 
Within  his  grasp,  with  tender  clasp, 
A  regal  king  with  soul  to  sing, 

But  stript  of  scrip  and  purse. 

Now  list  the  music  of  his  shell, 
And  hear  his  raptured  accents  tell 

Of  pure  and  noble  things, 
With  minstrel's  art  and  poet's  heart, 
He  fills  the  bowl  that  soothes  the  soul, 

And  plays  upon  its  strings. 


THE  COMING  MASTER. 

I  sit  upon  my  vine-clad  porch, 

'Tis  summer's  ardent  weather, 
And  watch  the  breezes  toying  with 

The  thistle's  downy  feather. 
My  once  brown  hair  is  white  as  snow, 

My  hands  are  thin  and  wrinkled, 
But  better  eyes  have  never  yet 

In  such  an  old  head  twinkled. 

A  mile  away,  and  up  the  road, 
I  see  a  horseman  riding ; 


OTHER  VERSE  85 

He's  handsome,  even  thus  afar, 

His  noble  beast  bestriding ; 
I  see  my  daughter's  tender  look, 

As  wistfully  she  gazes, 
And  mother  watching,  'neath  her  lids, 

The  blush  the  rider  raises. 

That  gallant  horseman  coming  here, 

So  often  at  sun-setting, 
And  mother's  anxious  looks  with  tears 

That  oft  her  cheeks  are  wetting, 
Are  signs  to  me,  that,  growing  old, 

Some  day  I  will  awaken 
To  find  my  place,  as  master  here, 

By  that  young  horseman  taken. 


CANDO. 

Cando,  the  boy,  was  poet,  heaven-born, 
For  in  his  young  life's  fair  and  rosy  morn 
The  melodies  of  forest,  hill  and  dale, 
The  low,  sweet  song  of  wooing  nightingale, 
The  stillicide  of  snow  and  sleet  and  rain, 
The  saucy  echo's  mocking,  wild  refrain, 
The  buzzing  of  the  honey-laden  bees 
Among  the  bloom  of  peach  and  apple  trees, 
And  music  from  all  nature  softly  stole 
To  sweep  the  tuneful  wind-harp  of  his  soul. 


86  OTHER  VERSE 

He  climbed  the  mountain  side,  and  saw  the  sea 
Come  marching  in  to  kiss  the  monarch's  knee, 
And,  in  its  slow  and  undulant  retreat, 
Spread  out  its  ermine  carpets  at  his  feet. 
The  fair,  the  good,  the  beautiful  and  true 
Were  to  his  rhythmic  life  poetic  dew ; 
Fair  Genius  lent  her  brightest  lamp  to  light 
His  every  step  and  bless  his  gladdened  sight. 
And  Cando  sang  in  strong,  ecstatic  song, 
Of  what  he  saw  and  heard,  the  whole  day  long. 

Thus  as  he  sang,  at  every  rounded  pause 

His  playmates  clapped  their  rapturous  applause, 

Till  fierce  Ambition  seized  the  poet  boy 

And  stole  away  his  adolescent  joy. 

Onward  to  manhood,  hand  in  hand  with  fame, 

Rushed  Cando ;  and  the  glory  of  his  name 

Rang  through  the  State,  borne  on  the  cadent 

breeze 

'Mid  loud  huzzas,  and  then  across  the  seas; 
Till  in  all  lands,  on  every  babbling  tongue, 
The  wonder  of  his  dazzling  fame  was  sung. 

Mellow  and  rich,  from  his  enraptured  shell, 
Glowing  and  strong,  the  sounding  numbers  fell ; 
He  tuned  no  more  a  gentle  harp  to  win 
The  plaudits  of  his  youthful  kith  and  kin, 
But  eager  sought  the  tribute  and  acclaim 


OTHER  VERSE  87 

Of  them  of  high  and  mighty  name  and  fame, 
Till  strong  he  stood,  in  glory  and  command, 
And  on  a  throne,  magnificent  and  grand, 
Young  Cando  sat  and  gazed  above  the  crowd, 
A  monarch  high,  and  laurel-crowned,  and  proud. 

From  distance  dim,  beyond  the  mighty  throng, 
Came  faintly  now  the  reaper's  harvest  song. 
No  more  heard  he  the  loving  voice  of  home. 
The  tinkling  herd-bell  in  the  soft'ning  gloam, 
And  lusty  crow  of  doughty  chanticleer 
Were  sounds  too  far  for  Cando's  kingly  ear. 
Fame's  vibrant  tongue  had  'whelmed  the  homely 

strains 

Of  Love's  dear  song  and  lullaby's  refrains — 
He  lived  to  learn  that  grand  exalted  state 
To  lowly  born  is  mockery  of  Fate. 


A  MODERN  TEMPLE. 

Not  many  short  and  fleeting  years, 
With  all  their  hopes,  and  joys,  and  fears, 
Have  marched  unhalting  to  the  dead, 
With  steady,  stern  and  silent  tread, 
Since  o'er  the  hills  and  valleys  here 
The  red  man  chased  the  panting  deer, 
And  by  the  dark  Missouri's  tide 
The  warrior  wooed  his  dusky  bride ; 


88  OTHER  VERSE 

Not  long  ago,  where  now  we  stand, 
With  blessings  rich,  on  every  hand 
The  war-whoop  through  the  forest  rang, 
Among  the  pines  the  wild  winds  sang ; 
The  screams  of  eagles  in  the  air 
Met  echo  in  the  gray  wolf's  lair ; 
The  bison,  with  his  shaggy  mane, 
Grazed,  all  unharmed,  upon  the  plain ; 
The  paddle  of  the  light  canoe 
Flashed  where  the  water-lilies  grew  ; 
In  Nature's  garb  the  land  was  drest, 
From  mountain's  foot  to  craggy  crest, 
And  all  was  fresh,  untouched  and  wild, 
The  free  home  of  the  forest  child. 

But  soon,  from  toward  the  rising  sun, 
Was  heard  the  white  man's  axe  and  gun ; 
The  forest  bowed  before  his  hand, 
And  as  a  garden  bloomed  the  land ; 
The  ploughshare  turned  the  virgin  soil, 
And  rich  rewards  repaid  the  toil 
Of  every  hardy  pioneer 
Who  built  his  humble  cabin  here. 
Fair  cities  decked  the  boundless  west, 
And  here,  the  fairest  and  the  best 
Sprang  up  as  if  the  builder's  arm 
Was  aided  by  a  magic  charm, 
And  soon  o'er  hill,  and  vale  and  stream, 


OTHER  VERSE  89 

Was  heard  the  wild  and  startling  scream 
Of  swiftly-flying,  fire-fed  steed, 
Dashing  along  at  wondrous  speed, 
And  scattering  here,  far  and  near, 
Wealth  and  strength  in  his  proud  career ; 
And  thus,  among  the  gray  foot-hills, 
Spires  and  homes,  and  shops  and  mills 
Have  risen  as  though  genii  hands 
Had  wrought  where  this  fair  city  stands. 

The  rarest  of  the  glist'ning  gems 

That  deck  the  city's  brow — 
The  brightest  in  her  diadem, 

Is  this  we're  setting  now ; 
And  he  who  gave  this  temple  name, 

Shall  crown  the  beauteous  queen, 
And  coming  years  shall  sing  his  fame 

And  keep  his  memory  green. 

Each  lovely  Muse,  who  has  a  place 

Within  this  temple  grand, 
His  dreams  and  waking  thoughts  shall 
grace, 

And  bless  his  open  hand  ; 
For  'neath  the  sun,  no  fairer  shrine, 

Since  Delphi,  lost  so  long, 
Was  ever  lifted  to  the  Nine 

Of  Art,  and  Soul,  and  Song. 


90  OTHER  VERSE 

'Neath  this  broad  dome,  night  after  night, 

For  many  a  coming  year — 
'Neath  all  the  golden,  dazzling  light, 

From  yon  bright  chandelier — 
Shall  come  the  man,  the  maid,  the  dame. 

To  drink  from  Pleasure's  cup, 
And  see  the  actor  strive  for  fame, 

And  hold  the  mirror  up. 

The  walking  thoughts  of  Avon's  bard, 

His  hero,  king  and  clown, 
His  guileless  maid,  and  bearded  pard, 

And  monk,  in  cowl  and  gown, 
Shall  often  picture,  on  this  stage, 

The  passions,  loves  and  hates, 
Of  every  nation,  land  and  age 

Outside  the  pearly  gates. 

The  soldier,  lady-love  and  king, 

Who  came  at  Bulwer's  call, 
Shall  make  their  gallant  speeches  ring 

And  echo  through  this  hall ; 
And  birds  of  song  their  notes  shall  trill 

'Mid  orange  groves  and  palms, 
And  every  heart  shall  feel  the  thrill 

Of  music's  potent  charms. 


OTHER  VERSE  91 

Here  England's  pursy  knight  shall  wince 

Before  the  Windsor  fays, 
And  Denmark's  melancholy  prince 

Shall  call  his  mimic  plays, 
And  handle  Yorick's  fleshless  pate, 

And  break  Ophelia's  heart, 
And  taming  handsome,  shrewish  Kate, 

Petruchio  '11  play  his  part. 

Here  Lear,  "  every  inch  a  king," 

Shall  wear  his  monstrous  woes, 
And  Juliet  to  her  lover  cling 

Till  death's  releasing  throes ; 
Macbeth  shall  rue  his  murd'rous  deeds 

In  crime's  entangling  mesh, 
And  Shylock,  with  revengeful  greed, 

Demand  his  pound  of  flesh. 

And  hunchback  Richard,  cruel,  vile 

Shall  meet  his  Richmond  here, 
And  on  great  Caesar's  fun'ral  pile 

Shall  fall  the  Roman  tear. 
The  jealous  Moor  shall  send  above 

Sweet  Desdemona's  soul, 
And  Pauline  prove  that  woman's  love 

Outweighs  the  power  of  gold. 


92  OTHER  VERSE 

Bright  tears  of  joy  shall  dim  the  eye 

For  darling  Jessie  Brown, 
Who  hears,  while  others  'round  her  die, 

The  welcome  slogan's  sound. 
Here  poor  old  Rip  shall  totter  in 

To  seek  his  little  cot, 
And  find  how,  in  Life's  rush  and  din, 

We  are  so  soon  forgot. 

The  earth,  the  sky,  the  boundless  sea, 

And  every  race  and  age, 
Before  these  scenes  shall  gathered  be 

Upon  this  spacious  stage. 
Here  Pleasure  with  her  smiles  shall  bring 

Surcease  from  daily  cares, 
And  dullen  Sorrow's  sharpened  sting, 

And  lift  the  woe  she  bears. 


CASTELAR. 

'Tis  bitter  to  love  her  thus,  he  said ; 

'Tis  bitter  that  she  loves  me. 
'Twere  better  to  go  where  death  hath  led, 
Where  war  is  cruel,  and  blood  is  shed — 

Far  better  than  thus  to  be. 


OTHER  VERSE  93 

She  hath  a  lord  of  her  own — is  wed — 

Forsooth  a  man  of  low  degree, 
But  many  a  league  of  land  outspread, 
He  holds  by  a  fief,  inherited, 

And  a  vassal  tenantry. 

I  have  a  fief ;  'tis  in  my  hand, 

A  blade  that  did  never  rust, 
And  east  and  west  in  every  land, 
I  held  my  own,  with  the  trusty  brand, 

But  now  it  must  sheathe  in  dust. 

Why  do  I  linger  about  her  gates  ? 

I  seldom  see  her,  alas ! 
And  who  but  a  laggard  mopes  and  waits 
By  the  window  the  wan  moon  tessellates 

To  see  her  shadow  pass  ? 

The  gold  of  her  hair  has  tangled  me, 

Yet  I  have  never  loved  gold. 
The  white  of  her  throat,  and  the  ivory 
Of  her  bosom,  chained  me  in  ecstacy 

When  her  lips  the  secret  told. 

I  envy  the  lily  upon  her  breast, 

The  rose  in  her  shining  hair ; 
I  chide  the  sun  who  lags  in  the  west ; 
I  wait  in  the  garden  she  loves  the  best — 

She  promised  to  meet  me  there. 


94  OTHER  VERSE 

I  held  her  close  in  my  arms  last  night ; 

Oh,  the  pain  of  stolen  bliss ! 
She  checked  me  with  grief  that  was  half  delight, 
The  loves  that  were  wrong,  the  hearts  that  were 
right, 

Clung  close  in  that  pleading  kiss. 

Her  lord  is  brawny  and  strong  of  arm, 

But  comely  and  kind,  men  say ; 
The  brute  that  is  in  him  may  take  alarm, 
When  he  knows  her  heart  with  its  depth  of  calm 

Has  passed  forever  away. 

Why  tarries  she  yet  ?    Tis  very  late, 

And  the  night-bird  bodeth  ill ; 
But  hist !  I  hear  by  the  oaken  stair, 
Loud  angry  words — a  cry  of  despair, 

Ah,  God  !     Now  all  is  still. 

I  knew  no  bars,  I  knew  no  bolts, 

I  knew  no  doors  of  oak, 
I  traversed  the  stairs  and  sounding  floors ; 
The  chambers  were  closed — the  great  carved 
doors 

Fell  to  a  thunder-stroke. 

Oh,  rose !     Oh,  lily !     Oh,  poor  white  dove ; 
And  the  blood-stain  on  her  breast, 


OTHER  VERSE  95 

And  the  parting  lips  still  quivering — 
Great  God,  I  heard  rude  laughter  ring, 
By  the  cross,  I  stand  confessed. 

By  the  rood,  I  saw  his  brutal  bulk 

Stand  midway  in  the  door, 
'Twas  hard  to  slay  so  strong  a  man, 
But  I  had  slain  the  Saracen — 

And  her  blood  cried  from  the  floor. 

Little  may  vulgar  strength  avail 

'Gainst  arm  that's  nerved  with  steel ; 
He  lies  at  the  foot  of  a  carven  knight — 
And  I — I  kissed  her  lips  "  Good  night." 
Good  night !     All  peace,  all  rest  go  hence ; 
Good  night  to  all  but  penitence. 


RENAISSANCE. 

'Twas  in  the  fairest  season  of  the  year, 

That  comes  to  where  the  yellow  Tiber  flows 

Southward,  among  Italia's  sunlit  hills, 

And  when  the  sweetest  bloom    of    Latium 
blows, 

With  staff  and  dog  I  strolled  along  the  streets, 
Then  out,  and  far  away  from  modern  Rome 


96  OTHER  VERSE 

Adown  a  fruit-tree  shaded  road  that  led 
Beside  the  walls  of  many  a  lordly  home; 

Then  on  to  Tusculum,  the  place  where  lie 
The  moss-grown  ruins  of  the  gleaming  pile 

That  great  Lucullus  bravely  built,  ere  yet 
The  gentle  Nazarene,  with  God's  sweet  smile, 

Had  come  to  bless,  and  save  the  world,  and  die. 

I  wandered  'mid  the  crumbling  walls,  and  mused 

Upon  the  scenes  that,  centuries  ago, 
Had  been  enacted  there  in  luxury, 

And  of  the  wealth  and  splendor,  and  the  flow 
Of  wit  and  wine  among  the  Roman  lords ; 

Of  beauties  of  the  time,  in  robes  that  clung 
In  graceful  folds  about  their  faultless  forms ; 

The  singers,  and  the  dulcet  songs  they  sung, 
Where  now  the  lizard  and  the  winking  toad 

Lived  undisturbed,  and  vapors  damp  and  dank 
Arose  from  rotting  weeds  and  scum-hid  pools, 

And  where  the  gliding  snakes,  white  bleached 

and  lank, 
Slid  in  and  out,  in  this  their  foul  abode. 

Akimbo,  'mid  the  ruins,  here  and  there, 

Stood   broken   marble   columns,    'gainst  the 

walls, 

And,  tumbled  from  their  niches,  statues  lay, 
Chipped  and  defaced,  along  the  weed-grown 
halls. 


OTHER  VERSE  97 

Upon  a  mound  of  crumbled  stone,  I  spread 

My  mantle  out,  and,  half  reclining  there, 
Petted  the  dog,  and  fed  him  from  my  pouch, 

Then,  drowsed  by  the  warm  and  sluggish  air, 
Fell  fast  asleep,  my  dumb  friend  guarding  me. 

In  fantasy  of  dreams  I  saw  and  heard 
Some  strange  and  pleasing  things  of  long  ago, 

And  memory  caught  and  treasured  every  word 
And  sign,  of  that  ecstatic  reverie. 

The  white  walls  of  the  villa  stood  again, 

As  high  and  clean  as  in  the  days  before 
Decay's  first  touch  had  come  to  start  the  work 

Of  ruin,  and  to  break  and  topple  o'er 
The  towers  tall,  and  tear  the  facades  down. 

The  breath  of  summer  odors  floated  through 
The  halls  and  corridors,  and  fountains  sprayed 

Cool  waters  on  the  tropic  plants  that  grew 
About  their  bases,  and  redoled  the  air 

With  rich  perfumes,  the  scent  of  gaudy  bloom 
Half  hid  beneath  the  foliage  darkly  green, 

And  silken  curtains  from  far  Asia's  loom, 
In  graceful  drapings  screened  the  portals  there. 

Yet  silence  reigned,  save  the  soft  sighs  of  winds 
That  rustled  the  rich  hangings  of  the  walls, 

And  gently  played,  in  listless,  wanton  mood, 
Where  flowers  bloomed  within  the  frescoed  halls. 


98  OTHER  VERSE 

Deserted  of  all  living  things,  an  air 

Of  mystery  dim,  as  in  cathedral  aisles, 
Pervaded  all,  and  ghostly  shadows  fell 

Athwart  the  bolts  of  light  from  day's  bright 

smiles 
That  shot  in  long  and  golden  lances  through 

The  high  and  latticed  transoms  of  the  doors. 
Then  day  bowed  low  before  the  sable  plume 

Of  night  that  laid  her  moonbeams  on  the 

floors, 
And  lent  the  shimmering  light  a  softer  hue. 

The  statues  stood  again,  upright,  of  gods, 

Of  satyrs  and  of  nymphs,  within  the  place, 
And  soon  a  babel  'rose  of  ancient  tongues  ; 

A  revel  of  a  Pantheistic  race. 
Within  an  alcove,  near  to  me,  I  heard 

A  gross  old  bacchant  tell,  with  laugh  and 

sigh, 
A  sweet  young  naiad,  of  a  time  one  night 

When  Horace  with  his  Lesbia,  drew  nigh 
To  him,  and  in  his  shadow  kissed  the  girl, 

And  wound  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  held 
Her  head  upon  his  breast,  while  breathing  low 

The  music  of  his  poesy  that  welled 
Like  silver  fount,  and  pure  as  Oman  pearl. 

"  Think  thou  of  that,"  he  said,  "  and  yet,  per- 
force, 


OTHER  VERSE  99 

I  stood  as  calm  as  marble  statues  must, 
But  never  will  my  memory  lose  the  scene 

Till  all  of  us  have  crumblecf  into  dust. 
The  Phrygian  king,  when  standing  to  his  lips 

In  waters  cool,  with  fruits  above  him  hung, 
Dying  of  thirst  and  hunger,  did  not  feel 

Such  agony  as  then  my  spirit  wrung. 
Oft  when  Lucullus  gave  a  brilliant  feast, 

A  guest  came  near  this  marble  form  of  mine, 
Goblet  in  hand,  and  I,  a  bacchant  too, 

Could  catch  the  fragrant  odor  of  the  wine, 
And  think'st  thou  not  Tantalus  suffered  least  ? " 

And  other  busts  and  statues  held  converse, 

Of  poets,  wits  and  sages,  of  the  day 
When  Rome  sat  proud  upon  her  seven  hills, 

And    o'er  the   world,   as  mistress,   held  her 

sway; 
How  at  the  sumptuous  feasts  within  those  halls, 

When  rich  Lucullus,  wealthy  from  the  spoil 
Of  eastern  victories,  about  him  held — 

Far  from  the  city's  din  and  mad  turmoil — 
The  beauty  and  the  chivalry  of  earth. 

They   spoke   of   grand    Maecenas,    who   was 

friend 
To  young  Lucretius,  Virgil,  and  the  rest, 

Whose  rich  and  never-dying  verse  should  lend 
Immortal  name  to  Roman  deeds  and  worth. 


100  OTHER  VERSE 

I  woke  benumbed  and  chilled,  for  coming  night 

Had  brought  its  added  dampness,  and  I  found 
The  dog  had  slain  a  score  of  venomed  snakes, 

And  some  lay  writhing  yet  about  the  mound. 
They'd  sought  to  wound  me  as  I  slept,  but  that 

True  friend,  the  trusty  dog,  had  met  them 

there, 
Else,  with  my  classic  dream,  I'd  been  undone 

By  reptiles  that,  like  other  cowards,  dare 
Smite  but  the  helpless ;  and  the  vision  taught 

A  lesson — that,  perchance,  is  old — to  me : 
Build  all  you  may,  'twill  crumble  into  dust, 

But  love,  and  thought,  and  song,  will  ever  be, 
Though  temples  fall  and  riches  come  to  naught. 


EASTER  LILIES  AND  EASTER  BELLS. 

Easter  lilies  and  Easter  bells ; 
Sweet  the  story  their  coming  tells. 

Faith  and  Hope,  the  lilies  sing ; 

Peace  unto  the  soul  they  bring. 
High,  Salvation's  anthem  swells 
In  the  music  of  the  bells. 

Easter  lilies  and  Easter  bells ; 

Sweet  the  story  their  coming  tells. 


OTHER  VERSE  101 

Pure  and  fair  are  the  lilies  of  Easter ; 

Stately,  and  queenly,  and  white. 
Dulcet  and  deep  are  the  bells  that  on  Easter 
Chime,  with  the  coming  of  light, 
The  song  and  the  story, 
The  love  and  the  glory, 
That  live  in  the  Kingdom  of  Right. 

Out  of  the  song  and  the  fragrance  of  Easter, 

Welcome,  and  blessed,  and  clear, 
Cometh  the  risen  and  glorified  Master, 
Bringing  glad  words  of  good  cheer, 
And  work  in  the  garden 
For  them  that  seek  pardon, 
With  peace  for  the  sorrowing  here. 

Out  in  the  meadows  the  lilies  are  blooming 

And  deep  in  the  vales  and  dells 
Brightly  her  sisters  their  sweet  heads  are  lifting 
Under  the  Easter-tide  spells. 
The  spring  birds  are  winging, 
And  gaily  are  singing, 
The  story  the  Magdalene  tells. 

Out  in  the  morning  came  Mary  the  Magdalene — 

Dew-damp  of  night  in  her  hair ; 
Weeping  and  pale,  in  the  first  morn  of  Easter, 

Came  she,  faithfully,  there. 


102  OTHER  VERSE 

And  herein's  the  story — 
Sweet  Charity's  glory — 
The  story  the  lilies  declare. 

Out  of  the  chiming  of  soft  bells  at  Easter ; 

Out  of  the  lily's  perfume ; 
Out  of  the  riot  of  birds  of  the  spring-time ; 
Out  of  its  myriad  bloom 
Comes  ever  the  story 
Of  Christ's  risen  glory, 
That  mantles  with  promise  the  tomb. 


TWO  REVELS. 

In  revel  long  they  drink  and  sing ; 

The  wassail  bowl  goes  gayly  round ; 
From  songs  of  love  and  war  and  chase 

The  ancient  castle  walls  resound ; 
The  corridors  and  rafters  ring 

With  echoes  of  the  song  and  laugh ; 
The  chimney  blazes  glint  the  cups 

That  roystering  gallants  lift  and  quaff; 
They  sing  the  deeds  of  men  agone 

And  roar  of  comely  lasses  gay, 
'Till  reeling  'fore  the  goblet  king 

They  prone  beside  the  benches  lay. 


OTHER  VERSE  103 

The  sputtering  lamps  burn  low  and  die ; 

The  wabbling  blazes  staggering  chase 
Across  the  scattered  brands,  that  char 

Within  the  ample  fireplace ; 
Deserted  seems  the  ancient  hall ; 

Uncanny  in  the  fallen  gloom ; 
And  in  the  chill  and  dark  that  come 

Is  lost  the  heavy  wassail  fume. 
The  soughing  winds  sweep  down  the  night ; 

A  sorry  cur,  in  doleful  howl, 
Lends  to  the  grewsome  time  his  wail, 

Responsive  to  a  hooting  owl. 

But  see !   Another  light  is  there ; 

Unearthly,  pallid,  is  its  glow, 
And  shadowy  forms,  in  shimmering  mail 

Renew  the  song  and  wassail  flow. 
The  song  is  hollow,  soft  and  faint ; 

The  wine  is  thin,  the  toasts  are  old ; 
And  yet  they  prate  of  sires'  deeds, 

And  clash  the  goblets  that  they  hold. 
Within  the  chimney-place  a  brand 

Spurts  out  a  long  and  ruddy  glare, 
And  then  these  ghosts  of  men  agone 

Flee  from  the  sight  thus  shown  them  there. 


104  OTHER  VERSE 

GIVE  US,  O!  GOD,  TO  KNOW. 

O,  Great  Jehovah !  make  it  plain, 
To  them  that  look  to  Thee,  and  fain 

Would  wisely  worship  at  Thy  feet ; 
O !  give  it  us,  great  God,  to  know, 
Why  must  fair  Progress  travail  so, 

To  bring  forth  what  for  right,  is  meet  ? 
O  give  us,  God,  to  know ! 

Through  Time,  so  far  as  mortal  man, 
May  backward,  straining,  barely  scan, 

He  sees  the  road  of  Progress  barred 
By  bigotry;  and  bending  low, 
The  marplot  deals  his  hindering  olow, 

To  check  the  forward  march,  and  guard. 
Why  ?  give  us,  God,  to  know. 

The  Nazarene,  who  came  to  give 
Salvation,  that  the  soul  might  live, 

Met  lash,  and  spear,  and  cross,  and  thorn, 
To  bring  Thy  kingdom  here  below. 
His  way  was  made  a  way  of  woe. 

Why,  thus  to  us,  should  peace  be  borne? 
O,  give  us,  God,  to  know ! 

When  in  the  throes  of  civil  strife, 
This  young  republic  fought  for  life ; 


OTHER  VERSE  105 

Behind  the  field  a  carping  gang, 
In  right's  pretense,  a  lurking  foe, 
Stood  in  the  light  of  battle's  glow, 

And  snarling,  gnashed  their  fang  to  fang; 
Why  ?  give  us,  God,  to  know. 

Ah,  thus  Thou  movest,  on  the  storm, 
Thine  awful  wonders  to  perform ; 

And,  humbly,  we  accept  Thy  way, 
When,  even  now,  the  marplot's  blow, 
Would  lay  Columbia  stunned  and  low. 

That  he,  abashed,  shall  rue  the  day, 
O,  give  us,  God,  to  know. 


"MISTLETOE." 

The  poet-soul  can  see  you,  dear, 
Lost  in  the  maze  of  one  short  year, 

Twining  the  mistletoe  there. 
Pensive  and  still,  hopeful  and  true, 
While  memory  sweetly  sings  to  you, 

Soft  and  low  as  a  vesper  prayer. 

And  one  away  on  life's  strong  sea, 
Where  manhood's  ship  rides  high  and  free, 

Peers  out  across  the  surging  tide, 
And  hears  the  same  sweet  song,  my  dear, 
That  comes  to  you  adown  the  year — 

Looks  out  to  you,  his  star  and  guide. 


106  OTHER  VERSE 

He  sees  you  in  the  brilliant  glow 
Of  Christmas,  'neath  the  mistletoe, 

And  breathes  the  perfume  of  your  hair ; 
He  loves  you  as  he  loved  you  when 
He  told  you  so,  and  kissed  you  then- 
He  sees  you  sitting,  pensive  there. 

Then  do  not  sigh  again,  my  dear, 
He  loves  you  truly ;  never  fear 

That  aught  may  wile  his  heart  from  you. 
He'll  come  with  one  more  Christmas  day 
And  kiss  your  anxious  tears  away 

As  sunshine  does  the  dew. 

From  out  the  half-light — almost  gloom — 
That  grays  the  presence  of  your  room, 

He'll  bring  the  light  of  long  ago, 
And  with  your  head  upon  his  breast, 
In  love's  delight,  and  peace,  and  rest, 

He'll  kiss  you  'neath  the  mistletoe. 


"BUFFALO  BILL,"  A  KNIGHT  OF  THE 
WEST. 

Who  is  this  gallant  cavalier  that  rides  in  from 

the  West? 
His  horse,  and  gun,  and  trappings  are  the  truest 

and  the  best; 


OTHER   VERSE  1Q7 

He  strides  his  noble  thoroughbred  with  manly, 
easy  grace, 

And  sits  the  saddle  like  a  sheik,  and  rides  a  rat- 
tling pace. 

His  hair  falls  white  and  long  adown  his  shoul- 
ders strong  and  wide, 

And  all  his  bearing  has  the  poise  of  manliness 
and  pride. 

A  sovereign  born  and  citizen  of  this  fair  Western 
land, 

He  rose  among  his  fellows  in  the  custom  of 
command ; 

His  boyhood  heard  the  wailing  that  was  echo  of 
the  yell 

When  the  savage  made  the  border  seem  the  en- 
virons of  hell ; 

With  his  dying  father's  spirit,  his  hunting-knife 
and  gun, 

He  drove  the  bronze  barbarians  into  the  setting 
sun. 

'Mong  the  willows  by  the  river,  on  mesa,  hill  and 

plain, 
They  fell  beneath  his  horses'  hoofs,  and  'fore  his 

leaden  rain. 
Full  well  he  wreaked   his  vengeance,   and  he 

blazed  a  Western  path, 


108  OTHER  VERSE 

With  the  weapons  of  his  prowess  and  the  scor- 
ing of  his  wrath. 

From  Missouri's  murky  waters  to  the  white 
Sierra's  crest 

This  knightly  man  led  dauntless  men  and  empire 
to  the  West. 

To  save  the  name,  and  legends,  and  traditions  of 

that  land— 
The  wilderness  that  blossomed — and  its  story, 

strange  and  grand, 
To  the  wondering  sight  of  millions,  and  to  sing 

its  passing  song, 
He   led  toward  the  Orient  his  motley,  nomad 

throng, 
With   their   singing,    and   their   dancing,    their 

weapons  and  their  ways, 
Their  riding  and  their  fighting  in  their  tribe  to 

tribe's  affrays. 

From  the  canyons  of  the  mountains  to  the  can- 
yons of  the  deep, 

And  to  where  the  Eastern  nations  close  guard, 
and  jealous  keep, 

The  monuments  and  tokens  of  their  ancient  rule 
and  state, 

There  the  gallant  Western  chieftain  rode  among 
the  titled  great, 


OTHER  VERSE  109 

A  fellow-prince  among  the  kings,  a  sovereign  by 

the  right 
Of  honest  manhood,  bred  beneath  high  Liberty's 

clear  light. 

Where  the  altars  of  the  Druids  and  ancient  ab- 
beys lie, 

'Neath  forest-covered  ruins,  marking  centuries 
gone  by, 

And  in  places  that  are  cobwebbed  with  history 
as  old 

As  Britain's  first  traditions,  lying  deep  in  must 
and  mold, 

There  the  chieftain  and  his  riders  went,  and  held 
their  hardy  games 

To  plaudits  of  the  multitudes,  lords,  kings,  and 
royal  dames. 

By  the  Tiber,  'neath  the  shadow  of  St.  Peter's 

lofty  dome, 
The  mighty  pile  that  canopies  the  hierarch  of 

Rome; 
'Mid  monuments  and  masonry,  that,  crumbling 

in  decay, 
Teach  the  vanity  of  empire,  how  weak  and  fleet 

its  sway, 
Here  rode  the  knightly  plainsman,  and  his  cabal- 

leros  sang 


HO  OTHER   VERSE 

Where  oft,  in  centuries  agone,  acclaim  to  Caesar 
rang. 

'Mong  potentates  and  powers,  in  the  cities  of  the 
kings, 

From  where  Mahomet's  crescent  across  the  Orient 
swings 

To  where  the  North  sea  booms  against  old  Den- 
mark's rugged  shores, 

And  back  to  where  dear  home-land  opened  wide 
to  him  her  doors, 

Went  and  came  the  dashing  horseman,  and  he 
bore  the  banner  high 

That  Freedom's  heroes,  for  its  weal,  will  dare, 
and  do,  and  die. 

When  by  this  mighty  inland  sea  the  great  White 

City  gleamed 
As  radiant  as  mountain  snows,  the  chieftain's 

banners  streamed 
Above  his  wide  encampment,  and  from  every 

clime  and  land 
Came  men  to  do  him  honor,  and  to  grasp  his 

manly  hand. 
Even  yet  he  leads  his  riders,  and  his  lesson's 

high  and  strong, 
And  so,  saluting  him,  I  sing  this  heartful,  homely 

song. 


OTHER  VERSE  \\\ 

THE  MODERN  STEED. 

In  olden  time  my  gran'dad's  horse 

Stood  patient  at  the  gate, 
And  sometimes  at  a  post,  in  town, 

Throughout  the  day,  he'd  wait ; 
For  gran'dad  brooked  no  telling  when 

'Twas  time  for  him  to  go ; 
And  though  'twas  said  that  he  was  fast, 

Times  were  when  he  was  slow. 

For  politics,  he  had  a  turn — 

Not  as  a  candidate — 
And  when  he  argued  on  that  line 

The  waiter  waited  late ; 
And  he  believed  his  faithful  horse 

Adopted  all  his  creed, 
And  felt  content  to  wait,  all  night, 

Bereft  of  drink  and  feed. 

And  though  gran'dad  was  passing  kind, 

'Twas  plain  upon  its  face 
That  often  he  forgot  his  horse 

And  all  the  equine  race. 
Full  many  times — though  but  a  boy — 

I  felt  for  that  old  bay, 
Who  shivered  many  a  stormy  night, 

And  sweltered  many  a  day. 


112  OTHER  VERSE 

So,  when  I  grew  to  be  a  man, 

I  vowed  that  I  would  be 
More  careful  of  the  horse  I  rode 

And  faithfully  served  me ; 
No  empty  stomach  should  he  have, 

No  flies  should  sting  and  goad 
The  goodly  steed  that  I  would  have 

To  bear  me  on  the  road. 

Today  I  ride  with  greater  ease 

Than  gran 'dad  ever  knew, 
And  make  the  miles  along  the  road 

As  he  could  never  do. 
My  horse  is  "  tired,"  I'll  admit, 

The  livelong  day  and  night, 
And  yet  his  gait  is  just  the  same, 

And  he  as  fresh  and  bright. 

He  goes  forever  and  a  day, 

And  never  wants  a  feed, 
But  often  needs  a  rubbing  down — 

This  tireless  "  tired  "  steed. 
Yet,  when  my  horse  gets  out  of  wind, 

He  stops  right  then  and  there, 
And  one  must  blow  for  such  a  horse 

A  fresh  supply  of  air. 

He  runs  with  people  who  are  wise, 
Yet  he  is  often  green ; 


OTHER   VERSE  113 

Tho'  sometimes  black,  he's  always  light ; 

And  it  is  daily  seen 
That  though  he  goes  the  swiftest  pace, 

He  cannot  stand  alone, 
And  though  he'll  live  a  hundred  years, 

He  has  no  flesh  or  bone. 

This  horse  will  carry  anyone, 

Who  first  has  learned  to  ride, 
But  down  he  lies  with  other  folk ; 

And,  lest  you  think  I've  lied, 
Pray  let  me,  now,  his  tale  unfold, 

And  close  this  double  deal ; 
I  sing  the  steed  that  needs  no  feed, 
#  de  siecle  wheel. 


THE  STORM  KING. 

A  ship  sailed  out  on  the  open  sea ; 

Twas  gallant,  strong  and  daring, 
And  it  rode  as  brave  as  knight,  and  he 

To  win  armorial  bearing. 
With  heart  that  throbs  in  Titan  form, 

The  great  ship  seemed  as  living, 
And  out  of  the  calm  and  into  the  storm 

It  rode  without  misgiving. 


114  OTHER  VERSE 

Then  came  a  roar  of  awful  rage — 

The  bellow  of  the  thunder ; 
A  monarch's  challenge  and  his  'gage, 

That  broke  the  clouds  asunder ; 
And  leapt  his  weapon  from  its  sheath, 

Its  gleam  the  darkness  bright'ning— 
The  shuddering  ship  sank  dead  beneath 

A  glittering  blade  of  lightning. 


BOHEMIA'S  REST. 

I  met  a  gray  old  man,  one  night, 
And  he  was  worn  and  pale ; 

Yet  his  heart  was  light, 

And  his  eyes  were  bright 
When  he  told  his  curious  tale. 

The  old  man's  garb  was  worn  to  threads, 
His  hair  and  beard  were  rimed 
With  the  frost  of  age, 
And  he  seemed  a  sage, 
With  wisdom's  lessons  primed. 

Bright  Culture's  garland  crowned  his  brow, 
And  'neath  his  humble  guise 
Was  a  noble  heart ; 
And  the  love  of  art 
Shone  from  his  twinkling  eyes. 


OTHER  VERSE  115 

'Twas  at  the  festal  board  that  night, 
Within  Bohemia's  shade, 

The  wassail  bowl 

Had  warmed  his  soul 
And  edged  his  wit's  keen  blade. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  he  softly  said, 
"  In  the  sweet-not-long-ago, 
When  I'd  compare 
In  debonair 
With  all  the  best  we  know. 

"  The  good  Lord  had  been  kind  to  me, 
And  bountiful  were  mine 
His  blessings  fair, 
With  not  a  care, 
And  life  was  sparkling  wine. 

"  In  bright  Bohemia's  gladsome  ways 
I  walked  with  genial  souls, 

And  earth  was  mine, 

In  gladsome  shine, 
From  tropics  to  the  poles. 

"  I  reveled  with  the  gay  and  brave, 
In  mazes  of  delight, 
And  wore  the  braid 
Of  one  fair  maid 
Won  as  a  loyal  knight. 


116  OTHER  VERSE 

"  I  went  to  war  and  flashed  my  sword, 
In  battle's  garish  blaze, 
And  won  renown, 
Aye,  e'en  a  crown — 
The  soldier's  wreath  of  bays. 

"  I  stood  within  the  forum  then, 
And  won  the  strong  applause 

Of  gallant  men 

And  trenchant  pen, 
For  that  I'd  won  a  cause. 

"  With  health  and  wealth  and  high  emprise, 
I  gave  to  others  fame ; 

By  poet's  art 

I  thrilled  the  heart, 
And  earned  exalted  name. 

"  With  hand  on  lever  of  the  press 
I  built  a  city  where 

Primeval  stood 

A  mighty  wood 
And  cougars  had  their  lair. 

"  I  sent  to  legislative  halls 
A  knavish  parvenu, 

Who,  overfed 

On  what  I'd  said, 
A  monstrous  patron  grew. 


OTHER  VERSE  117 

"  That  sculptor  of  the  olden  time, 
Who  with  a  godlike  art 
Carved  into  life 
A  minx  of  strife, 
Who  broke  his  loving  heart, 

"  Did  better  far  than  this,  for  he 
Could  proudly  say,  at  least : 
*  Its  beauty's  there  ; 

Tis  strong  and  fair'— 
My  mold  was  but  a  beast. 

"  The  city  grew  at  such  a  pace 
That  I  was  lost  therein ; 

The  smallest  clown 

Within  the  town 
Would  pass  me  with  a  grin. 

"  My  spirit,  enterprise  and  zeal 
Were  all  forgotten,  quite, 

And  men,  for  self, 

To  gather  pelf 
Had  squeezed  me  out  of  sight. 

"  But  here,  within  these  classic  halls, 
With  loving  friends  I  meet, 
In  royal  fete 
The  *  third  estate,' 
In  art  and  soul's  retreat." 


118  OTHER  VERSE 

A  GENTLEMAN. 

He  could  not  be  so  poor  that  he  would  hate  the 

rich, 

Nor  yet  so  rich  that  he  despised  the  poor. 
He  is  so  brave  and  just,  that  not  a  turn  nor 

hitch, 

In  all  of  fortune's  winding  way,  could  lure 
Him  to  an  act  or  thought  of  vile  ingratitude. 

He's  true  unto  himself,  and  thus  to  every  man, 
And  has  that  courage,  high,  and  grand,  and 

strong, 
That  comes  with  kindness,  and  with  honor  leads 

the  van 

To  help  the  right,  and  sternly  punish  wrong ; 
To  strip  injustice  till  it  shivers,  shamed  and 
nude. 

He  seeks  the  culture  that,  refining,  gives  a  grace 

And  comfort  to  himself  and  those  around ; 
He  has  not  ostentation,  nor  would  he  abase 
Himself  to  thus  become  a  monarch  crowned. 
Clean  comes  his  thought,  and  from  his  hand 
a  brother's  grip. 

He   comes    from    anywhere  —  aye,    e'en   from 
Nazareth  — 


OTHER  VERSE  119 

From  north  and  south,  and  from  the  east  and 

west; 
He  comes  as  comes  the  cool  and  grateful  breeze's 

breath. 

He  need  not  be  an  angel  from  the  blest, 
He  might  be,  thus,  too  good  for  man's  com- 
panionship. 


DON'T  SAW  YOURSELF  OFF  OF  A 

LIMB. 

There  was  a  young  man  who  climbed  up  a  tree, 
And  he  was  as  healthy  as  healthy  could  be ; 
But  now  he's  a  sight  that  is  sorry  to  see, 
And,  oh,  I  would  hate  to  be  him ! 

He  was  pruning  the  tree  to  encourage  its  health, 
To  make  it  bear  better,  and  swell  his  own  wealth, 
But  sorrow  came  to  him,  wolf-like  in  its  stealth, 
When  he  sawed  himself  off  of  a  limb. 

The  man  who  is  doing  quite  well  at  his  trade, 
Should  always  stick  to  it,  and  not  be  afraid 
That  Fortune,  the  fickle  and  fussy  old  jade, 
Can  injure  his  chance  in  the  swim. 

But  when  he  lets  go  what  he  knows  how  to  do, 
And  jumps  into  something  that's  too  very  new, 


120  OTHER  VERSE 

He  finds  himself  done  in  a  pretty  hot  stew — 
He  has  sawed  himself  off  of  a  limb. 

It  pays  to  be  honest,  and  active,  and  true ; 
To  pay  unto  Caesar  whatever's  his  due ; 
And  always  on  honor  to  tighten  your  clew, 
Then  do  what  you  do  with  a  vim. 

But  if  ever  you  make  with  your  good  name  a 

slip; 

On  every-day  decency  let  go  your  grip, 
You'll  find  yourself  flat  on  the  devil's  black  hip — 

You  have  sawed  yourself  off  of  a  limb. 

The  man  who  is  healthy  and  wealthy,  if  wise, 
Will  never  the  poor  and  the  humble  despise; 
For  his  money  might  feather,  take  wings  and 
arise, 

And  drop  him  to  earth  with  a  bim ! 

And  then  when  he  feels  of  his  bruises  and  breaks 
And  thinks  of  the  number  and  sort  of  mistakes 
A  fool  with  a  pile  that's  too  big  for  him  makes, 
He  knows  he's  sawed  off  of  a  limb. 

Be  true  to  yourself,  and  as  certain  as  fate, 
You'll  always  be  going  a  good  winning  gait, 
And  blessings  will  fall  on  your  frosty  old  pate 
When  age  makes  your  peepers  grow  dim. 

And  then  at  the  end  of  your  life's  little  span 
You'll  smile  at  the  way  things  promise  to  pan, 
And  die  a  contented  and  happy  old  man, 

Who  was  never  sawed  off  of  a  limb. 


OTHER  VERSE  121 

ONE  MORE  VALENTINE. 

Long  I've  told  you,  once  a  year, 

Sweet,  my  valentine, 
How  I've  loved  you,  honey,  dear, 

How  for  you  I  pine. 
I  have  rhymed  you  every  way ; 

Called  you  Columbine, 
Swore  you  were  my  night  and  day, 

Asked  you  to  be  mine, 
Sweet,  my  valentine. 

And  I've  called  those  lasses  up — 

All  the  Muses,  Nine ; 
Had  them  with  me  drink  and  sup, 

Sweet,  my  valentine ; 
Begged  them  help  me,  little  one, 

At  the  nuts  and  wine, 
Write  a  song  that,  when  'twas  done, 

Love  would  through  it  shine, 
For  my  valentine. 

By  the  altar  of  thy  beauty ; 

At  thy  virgin  shrine, 
Have  I  knelt  in  loyal  duty, 

Praying  you'd  be  mine ; 
And  I've  sworn  the  form  of  Hebe 

Was  not  so  divine, 


122  OTHER  VERSE 

Nor  had  she,  fair  Queen  of  Sheba, 
Near  such  grace  as  thine, 
Sweet,  my  valentine. 

Once  a  year,  I've  sent  you,  darling, 

Such  a  song  and  sign ; 
Made  your  voice  outvie  the  starling ; 

Lips  like  ruby  wine. 
Now,  I'd  make  this  one  day  all  days, 

And,  sweet  valentine, 
Ask  you  to  be  my  loved  one  always, 

Mine,  and  only  mine ; 
My  own  valentine. 

Yes,  I  wish  all  intervening 

Days  could  brightly  shine 
On  our  love,  and  ever  meaning, 

Just  one  valentine, 
So  that  thus  'twill  be  forever, 

Love  of  mine  and  thine 
Shall  grow  closer  yet  together, 

Clinging  as  a  vine, 

Sweet,  my  valentine. 


OTHER  VERSE  123 

ON  THE  SUMMER  SEA. 

I  have  a  little  sweetheart,  a  dear,  winsome 

beauty, 
Who  lives  by  the  lakeside,  but  where,  I'll 

not  tell. 

I  owe  her  my  fealty,  my  best  love  and  duty, 
And  the  vows  I  have  made  her  I'll  keep 

true  and  well ; 

As  truly  as  lovers  in  days  of  old  story, 
When  knights  were  the  boldest  and  bar- 
ons were  strong ; 
Her  love  is  my  day-star,  my  pride  and  my 

glory, 

And  in  its  sweet  service  I  sing  her  this 
song. 


There  is  many  a  maiden  whose  smiles   I 

still  cherish, 
Whose  laugh  was  as  music  the  sweetest 

to  me, 
Whose  friendship   I  hold  where  it  never 

shall  perish, 
But  none  have  I  loved  like  this  maid  of 

the  sea. 
She  comes  to  me  flying  across  the  white 

riftings 


124  OTHER  VERSE 

Of  sands  by  the  lakeside,  to  where,  in 

my  boat 
I  am  waiting  the  lassie,  and  then  we  go 

drifting, 
The  happiest  lovers  on  earth  or  afloat. 

From  her  hair,  where  the  sunlight  so  cheer- 
ily dances 
To  feet  that  are  dimpled,  and  shapely, 

and  bare 
My   love   is  my   life,   and    its   worth    she 

enhances 
By  her's  that's  so  artless,  and  honest, 

and  rare. 
I'm  sure   'twould  be  happiness,   true  and 

unfailing, 
If  that  pretty  maiden  could  always  with 

me, 
Go  loving  and  laughing,   and  singing  and 

sailing, 

Through   all   of   my  journey  on  Life's 
changeful  sea. 


OTHER  VERSE  125 

BE  FAIR  AND  JUST,  MY  SON. 

When  all  the  laws  and  proverbs  known  to  man, 
And  made  to  guide  him  in  the  right, 

Are  blent,  and  sublimated  into  one, 

Shall  come,  as  bright  as  God's  white  light, 
"  Be  fair  and  just,  my  son." 

Therein  lies  faith,  and  charity,  and  hope, 
With  honor,  truth,  and  love,  and  peace ; 

In  that  may  good  be  ever  nobly  done ; 
It  brings  to  human  joy,  increase. 

Be  fair  and  just,  my  son. 

Rise  high  above  the  scrambling  mob,  that  stoops 
To  gather  gear,  that  comes  by  greed. 

Enough,  and  some  to  spare,  is  better  won 
As  industry  and  honor's  meed. 

Be  fair  and  just,  my  son. 

That  grim  misfortunes  often  lash  the  best, 

As  with  the  chastening  rod,  'tis  true ; 
But  wrong,  though  long  its  course  may  smoothly 

run, 
Will  meet,  at  last,  its  dire  due. 

Be  fair  and  just,  my  son. 

So  taught  the  gentle  Nazarene,  and  so 
The  greatest  men  the  world  has  known, 


126  OTHER  VERSE 

From  Moses,  Orange,  and  our  Washington 
And  Lincoln,  hath  the  precept  shone : 
"  Be  fair  and  just,  my  son." 

It  lifts  the  soul  and  purifies  the  heart 
Twould  make  the  world  a  paradise ; 

'Twould  end  all  war  and  silence  every  gun ; 
Virtue  would  reign  above  dark  vice. 
Be  fair  and  just,  my  son. 


GO  EASY. 

An  old  gray  man  on  an  old  gray  horse 

Came  riding  down  the  lane ; 
Said  the  old  gray  man  to  the  old  gray  horse 
"Your  gait  gives  me  a  pain." 

Said  the  old  gray  horse  to  the  old  gray  man 
"  You've  grown  so  plaguey  thin, 
You  don't  know  when  your  seat  is  soft, 
And  that's  the  fix  you're  in." 

"  I'll  teach  you  better  talk  than  that," 
Said  the  old  gray  man,  quite  huff ; 
And  he  beat  that  old  gray  horse  full  hard 
With  his  stick  so  long  and  tough. 


OTHER  VERSE  127 

The  old  gray  horse  reared  up  in  front, 

And  then  kicked  up  behind ; 
The  old  gray  man  fell  off  in  the  mud, 

And  much  distraught  in  mind. 

Said  the  old  gray  horse  to  the  old  gray  man, 

With  a  long  and  horsey  smile : 
"  You'll  find  that  seat  full  soft  enough," 
And  he  trotted  many  a  mile. 

The  old  gray  man  walked  home  that  night, 

The  horse  no  supper  got. 
They  growled  no  more  from  thence,  I  ween, 

But  lived  in  peace,  I  wot. 


TWO  DEAD. 

'Tis  pitiful  to  see  a  man  at  life's  mid-day, 
Dead  and  undone,  a  lump  of  pallid  helpless  clay ; 
He  that  was  strong  and  brave,  and  loving,  and 

alert, 
Lost  to  his  friends ;  his  heart  and  hand  and  art 

inert. 

And  over  this  we  weep  and  sigh  and  long  repine ; 
Above  it,  build  a  tomb  and  plant  a  mourning 

vine. 
Mayhap,  in  story  he's  embalmed  to  keep  him 

near, 


128  OTHER  VERSE 

And  all  that  may  be  done  is  done,  to  veil  his 

bier. 
Aye,   bitter   'tis,  indeed,   that    men  must  pass 

away, 
And  buried  be  in  living  hearts  and  in  the  clay. 

Tis  pitiful  to  see  a  man  at  life's  mid-day 

With  all  ambition  gone ;  the  weak  and  nerveless 

prey 

Of  baseless  fears,  or  indolence  ;  full  well  content 
To  have  the  shining  days  that  God  has  kindly 

sent, 

Go  trooping  by,  nor  find  amid  them  all,  not  one 
In  which  some  worthy  work  may  worthily  be 

done; 

Who  caring  not  for  all  the  duties  men  may  owe 
Each  other  here,  recks  not  of  human  weal  or 

woe. 

'Tis  better  to  be  dead  and  buried  out  of  sight 
Than  dead,  and  buried  not ;  a  useless,  idle  wight. 


THE  TIGER'S  CUB. 

The  tiger's  cub  was  gentle,  and  it  played  with  a 

little  child ; 
Its  feet  were  velvet  cushions,  and  its  brown  eyes 

meek  and  mild. 


OTHER  VERSE  129 

The  changes  came  so  softly  that  its  playmate 

had  not  seen 
The  cruel  claws  in  velvet,  and  the  brown  eyes 

glinting  green. 
The  child   is  lying,  mangled,  in  the  fierce  and 

reeking  jaws, 
For   the   tiger's  cub   has  torn  him,  'neath  his 

velvet-hidden  claws. 

I  knew  a  youth  of  strength  and  truth, 

And  mien  of  a  manly  man, 
Who  marched  along,  with  laugh  and  song, 

In  Pleasure's  troop  and  van. 
High  hope  was  his,  and  noble  aim  ; 

He  sealed  a  lover's  vow, 
And  climbed  the  dazzling  steeps  of  Fame, 

Where  Fortune  kissed  his  brow. 

The  way  was  bright,  his  heart  was  light, 

And  friends  by  legion  came 
In  joyous  throng,  to  swell  his  song, 

And  echo  his  sounding  fame. 
They  lifted  high  the  bowl,  and  drank 

His  health  in  sparkling  wine, 
Amid  the  bloom  of  the  primrose  bank, 

And  under  the  shading  vine. 

In  shade  of  vine,  from  lees  of  wine, 
A  mocking  monster  came, 


130  OTHER  VERSE 

And  seized  the  boy,  amid  the  joy 

And  lustre  of  his  fame. 
The  wanton  demon  dashed  the  drink 

With  poverty  and  dread, 
And  drove  the  youth  to  ruin's  brink — 

The  singing  troop  had  fled. 

With  leers  and  limps,  the  comrade  imps, 

In  howl,  and  grin,  and  yell, 
Tore  at  his  soul,  his  manhood  stole, 

And  dipped  him  deep  in  hell. 
'Mid  horrors  that  no  mortal  tongue 

Could  ever  tell  aright, 
They  dragged  his  life  and,  screaming,  flung 

His  honor  into  night. 

The  tiger's  cub  was  gentle,  and  it  played  with  a 

little  child ; 
Its  feet  were  velvet  cushions,  and  its  brown  eyes 

meek  and  mild. 
The  changes  came  so  softly  that  its  playmate 

had  not  seen 
The  cruel  claws  in  velvet,  and  the  brown  eyes 

glinting  green. 
The  child  is  lying,  mangled,  in  the  fierce  and 

reeking  jaws, 
For  the  tiger's  cub  has  torn  him,  'neath  the 

velvet-hidden  claws. 


OTHER  VERSE  131 

JIM  MARLINSPIKE. 

Jim  Marlinspike  was  a  castaway, 

On  a  far-off  island  shore ; 
He  floated  there  on  a  banjo  box, 

And  a  shirt  was  all  he  wore—- 
If you  should  bar  a  startled  look, 

And  a  pain  that  then  was  his, 
For  too  much  damp  had  left  with  Jim 

A  touch  of  the  rheumatiz. 

But  Jim  was  a  man  of  "Tapley  "  stripe; 

And  when  things  worried  him, 
He  always  looked  at  the  pleasant  side, 

For  that  was  the  way  with  Jim, 
And  so  it  gave  him  joy,  indeed, 

When  on  that  lonely  shore, 
He  found  his  banjo  in  the  box — 

He  asked  for  nothing  more. 

Some  would'er  pined  for  a  bite  to  eat, 

Or  a  suit  of  hand-me-downs, 
But  Jim  just  played  his  old  banjo, 

And  laughed  at  Fortune's  frowns. 
The  trade  winds  played  at  hide-and-seek 

With  the  skirt  of  Jim's  brief  shirt, 
But  he  sat  on  a  rock  and  played  banjo, 

And  he  played  it,  too,  right  peart. 


132  OTHER  VERSE 

The  pine  trees  there  were  pine  enough 

For  such  a  man  as  him ; 
Not  a  soul  on  land,  nor  one  on  sea, 

Was  a'bothering  much  of  Jim. 
The  most  contented  man  on  earth, 

Or,  eke  upon  the  sea, 
Was  that  same  jack-tar,  Marlinspike, 

With  his  banjo  on  his  knee. 

Old  Crusoe  pined  for  lots  of  things 

When  in  that  selfsame  fix ; 
He  wanted  friendship,  home,  and  such, 

To  Jim  all  these  were  "  nix." 
He'd  never  known  where  he  was  born, 

And  what's  more,  didn't  care, 
And  friendship  he  had  seemed  to  think 

Was  a  thing  that  didn't  wear. 

Therefore  he  stayed  and  gaily  played 

To  whales  and  little  fish ; 
And  old  Saint  Tony  never  had 

A  crowd  more  to  his  wish. 
At  last  one  day,  his  G  string  broke, 

And  with  that  came  a  pain 
That  broke  his  heart,  for  now  he  thought, 

He'd  never  play  again. 

So  then  he  pined,  from  day  to  day. 
A  sorely  troubled  soul ; 


OTHER  VERSE  133 

How  glad  he'd  given  his  very  last  shirt 

To  make  the  G  string  whole. 
He  pined  for  a  place  where  he  could  buy 

Another  such  a  string; 
But  hope  was  lost  and  Jim  sat  down 

His  death  song  for  to  sing. 

A  tender-hearted  monster  heard 

Poor  Marlinspike's  sad  wail — 
The  great  big  mammal-fish  that's  called 

The  true  and  righteous  whale ; 
And  straight  away  his  whaleship  went, 

Right  down  to  Whatcom  flats, 
And  swallowed  there  a  gunny-sack, 

Cramfuli  of  all  size  cats. 

The  G  cat  and  the  B  cat  too, 

Likewise  the  slender  E, 
And  wire  to  make  the  big  A  strings, 

A  cargo  full,  took  he, 
And  then  he  hied  him  fast  away. 

To  Jim's  lone  island  shore, 
And  threw  his  string-truck  on  the  beach 

And  laughed  till  he  was  sore. 

Now  when  Jim  Marlinspike  beheld 
What  this  good  whale  had  done 

He  knew  that  'mong  the  mammal  sort 
A  real  friend  he'd  won. 


134  OTHER   VERSE 

He  wiped  his  red  and  weeping  eyes, 
And  tuned  his  shell  once  more, 

And  Jim  is  playing  yet,  I  think, 
Upon  that  island  shore. 


A  MEMORY  AND  A  TEAR. 

'Tis  noon  of  night,  and  from  a  long,  lone  walk, 
I've  come  to  sit  me  down  and  meditate ; 
To  croon  and  ponder,  musing  with  myself ; 
To  mumble  in  an  old  man's  piping  way. 

That  walk  had  been  a  hard  and  weary  one, 
Had  I  been  'companied  by  other  thoughts 
Than  those  that  held  me  as  I  strolled  adown 
The  wintry  street — the  hushed  and  quiet  street, 
Save  for  the  restless  wind,  that  blowing  light, 
Listless  and  wanton,  thro'  the  bare-armed  trees, 
Made  music  fitting  to  my  reverie, 
So  deep,  and  reaching  to  the  past, 
That  being  once  again  a  boy,  my  limbs 
Forgot  the  years  they've  marched  along  beside 
Since  lusty  youth,  in  roseate  glow,  was  mine. 

In  all  the  years,  since  then,  I've  seen  the  world 
On  many  sides,  and  felt  its  jagged  points, 
As  rolling  in  swift  motion,  on  its  poles, 


OTHER   VERSE  135 

It  grinds  the  face  of  those  who  do  not  wear 
Protecting  Fortune's  mask,  impierceable. 

\ 

I've  sat  within  the  shade  of  orange  groves, 

And  heard  in  low  and  sweet  and  witching  strains, 
Some  far-off  music,  as  of  siren  songs, 
Weird-like,  from  wooded  shores  of  placid  lakes, 
Soft  o'er  the  listening  waters  steal  along. 

I've  borne  the  cold  of  arctic  heights,  and  dragged, 
Half  famished,  o'er  the  sands  of  desert  plains, 
And  strove  in  solitude  among  the  wilds 
And  gloom  of  desolation  lost. 

I've  stood  upon  a  lonely  isle,  far  out 
Amid  the  sea,  and  yearning,  hopeful,  watched 
The  waste  to  catch  a  sight  of  saving  sail, 
And  day  by  day  saw,  but  with  growing  dread, 
The  crawling  canyons  of  the  deep  upheave. 

But  in  it  all  I've  had  a  holy,  sweet, 
And  blessed  memory  to  'bide  with  me — 
My  strong  young  manhood's  first  and  cherished 
love. 

And  here's  a  great  and  faithful  tear ;  one  lone, 
True,  tender  friend,  of  bright  and  bygone  years 
That,  some  decades  ago,  held  in  their  arms 
The  long-lost  love  that  I  beheld  tonight, 


136  OTHER  VERSE 

So  far  away,  and  yet  so  vividly, 
Adown  life's  wonder-sided  vista  dim. 

Welcome  thou  art,  my  fellow  mourner,  here 
Beside  the  grave  of  buried  hopes ;  welcome, 
Thou  sweet  and  pure  good  comforter  of  mine ; 
And  mayst  thou  come  again  some  time,  to  me, 
For  with  thee  comes  a  gentle,  tender  touch 
Of  pity  for  Myself,  that  softeneth, 
As  with  an  angel's  kind  and  soothing  ways, 
A  heart  that  hath  no  other  pain  so  sweet ; 
A  heart  that  crying,  bleeding  with  it  all, 
Hugs  the  strong  anguish,  for  the  blessed  joy 
It  gave,  when  that  young  love  was  all  the  world, 
And  heaven,  so  pure  it  was,  and  blissful. 


HIS  ANGEL  SLEPT. 

Fair  of  face  and  debonair ; 
Unbound  sheaves  of  shining  hair ; 
Open  throated,  winning  eyes; 
Lives  'neath  never-clouding  skies : 
Soul  that's  ever  moulding  art ; 
True  and  brave,  with  tender  heart ; 
Takes  the  great  world  as  it  goes ; 
Loves  the  pansy  and  the  rose ; 

Finds  in  every  flower  honey ; 

Hates  the  miser  and  his  money. 


OTHER  VERSE  137 

High  of  mind  and  clanly  proud ; 
Shrinks  he  from  the  rabble  crowd ; 
Shuns  the  herd  and  loves  his  friends ; 
Scorns  the  truckling  soul  that  bends ; 
Holds  the  sparkling  goblet  high; 
Lowers  it  and  drains  it  dry ; 
Guardian  angel  of  the  boy 
Watch  with  him  through  every  joy; 

Ward  off  dangers  that  environ ; 

Let  thy  wand  be  rod  of  iron. 

'Mid  the  music  and  the  bloom, 

Soft  caresses  and  perfume, 

Where  the  fountains  plash  and  play, 

Where,  though  light,  'tis  never  day, 

For  the  day  is  his  in  sleep ; 

Dreaming  dreams  while  reapers  reap, 

Poet-born,  with  fancy  bright, 

Plays  and  works  he  in  the  night ; 
With  no  passion  mezzo-graded, 
All  sun-bright  or  somber-shaded. 

Cold  the  winter  wind  now  blows, 
Lying  deep  the  winter  snows ; 
Hard  and  frozen  is  the  way 
Where  he's  wandering  astray, 
And  the  morning  drives  the  dark 
From  the  spot  where,  lying  stark, 


138  OTHER  VERSE 

He  who  had  been  guarded  well, 
At  the  hand  of  demons  fell — 

Through  the  shadows  came  they  creeping ; 

Worn,  his  angel  guard  was  sleeping. 


THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  MOON. 

There's  a  portrait  of  a  woman  on  the  moon, 
It  is  graven  on  the  shining  silver  disc ; 

It's  a  face  that  has  the  tint  of  lily  roon, 
And  the  bas-reliefs  as  cameo  or  bisque. 

She's  as  handsome  as  a  rose  in  early  June, 

This  fair  and  lovely  woman  of  the  moon. 

A  mystery's  this  portrait  on  the  moon 

That  was  graven  by  the  Master  hand  above ; 

'Tis  a  mystery  as  deep  as  ancient  rune, 

And  perplexing  as  the  woman  that  we  love. 

She  is  fairest  in  the  autumn  night's  high  noon, 

This  pure  and  lovely  woman  of  the  moon. 

It  was  erst  a  man  we  pictured  in  the  moon ; 

It  is  better  that  a  woman  should  be  there, 
With  the  roses  and  the  lilies  'round  her  strewn, 

And  the  light  of  heaven,  shining  on  her  hair. 
When  the  one  we  love  is  absent  we  may  croon 
To  the  lovely  woman  graven  on  the  moon. 


OTHER  VERSE  139 

A  TALISMAN. 

What  uses  had  he  for  all  these — 
This  ring-locked,  rusty  bunch  of  keys  ? 
Ah !  this  one  closed  his  vault  of  wine ; 
And  this  one  opened  up  the  mine 
From  whence  he  took  the  store  of  thought 
That  here  are  in  his  writings  wrought. 
But  this  !     Why,  here,  he  held  his  life ! 
This  was  his  latch-key,  and  his  wife 
Has  thanked  dear  God  to  hear  it  turn. 
Its  place  is  'mong  the  ashes  in  his  urn. 


CHICAGO. 

AN  EPIC. 

The  Visigoth  and  Vandal  hordes  that  rushed 

Across,  in  trampling  force,  and  savage  mood, 
The  breadth  of  ancient  Europe's  continent, 

Trod  lighter  than  the  wild  and  ruthless  brood, 
That  in  fierce  raid  bore  down  from  bleaker  lands, 

To  sweep  the  mild  Algonquin  from  the  fields 
Of  fertile  Illinois,  that  grateful  teemed 

In  rich  abundance,  and  whose  lavish  yields 

Were  noised  afar.    'Twas  thus  the  spoiler  came 
To  lay,  in  blood,  the  savage  victor's  claim. 


140  OTHER  VERSE 

Beside  the  mighty  inland  sea,  that  laves 

The  northern  shores  and  bounds  of  Illinois, 
As  stand,  in  fields,  the  fall-time  shocks  of  corn, 

So  stood  the  wigwams  of  the  Iroquois ; 
And  harbored  in  the  river's  sluggish  mouth, 

Lay  rocking  where  the  water-lilies  grew, 
And  lightly  on  the  stream,  in  huddled  fleets, 

And  myriad,  the  Indian's  bark  canoe ; 

A  war-bent  host  in  sullen  camp  was  there, 
And  threatful  as  the  couchant  panther's  glare. 

Where  erst  the  docile  Inini  had  chased, 

Through  stream,  and  wood,  and  on  the  meadowed 

plain, 
The  panting  deer  and  shaggy  buffalo ; 

And  where,  amid  the  fields  of  waving  grain, 
Fed  feathered  flocks;  where  were  content,  and  peace, 

And  happy  homes,  the  fell  invader  swept. 
The  tranquil  villages  were  razed  to  earth ; 

Thousands  were  slain,  and  sore  a  nation  wept. 
Despoiled  and  driven  forth,  strong  men  were 

cowed, 
And  down  to  dust  a  mighty  people  bowed. 

Among  the  maidens  of  the  Inini 

Were  none  more  beautiful  in  face  and  form 
Than  youthful  Wat-chee-kee,  whose  loveliness 

Outvied  the  western  sky,  when  by  the  storm 


OTHER  VERSE  141 

It  had  been  swept,  leaving  no  trace  of  cloud 

And  when  the  setting  sun  had  lit  that  space 
In  gold  and  crimson  glory  ;   and  the  limbs 

Of  Wat-chee-kee  were  lithe  and  curved  in  grace ; 
Light  was  her  step  as  hunting  cougar's  tread ; 
Her  glowing  eyes  a  star-bright  luster  shed. 

Vanquished,  the  Inini  watched  from  afar, 

With  listless  soul,  the  orgies  of  his  foe, 
And  saw  him  dance  in  revelry  about 

The  flames  that  laid  his  looted  dwelling  low. 
Then  came  fair  Wat-chee-kee,  of  flashing  eye, 

Among  the  daunted  warriors  to  plead, 
Beseeching  them  to  rise  and  strike  while  night 

Lent  aid,  and  deep  caroused  the  foe  in  greed. 
Yet  sullen  sat  the  broken  Inini, 
Engloomed  and  overcast  as  wintry  sky. 

Then  turned  the  maiden  to  the  women  there, 

With  blazing  words  that  begged  them   shame  to 

fight 
The  craven,  miscalled  braves.     Up  rose  the  squaws, 

A  host  of  armed  amazons,  bedight 
In  plumes  and  soldierly  arrayed,  to  dash 

Against  the  enemy.     Wat-chee-kee  led, 
And  seeing  this,  the  men  bestirred  themselves. 

So  marched  the  motley  band,  with  silent  tread, 


142  OTHER   VERSE 

And  crushed  in  deep  defeat  the  Iroquois, 
Who  wildly  fled  the  lands  of  Illinois. 

Where  raged  the  battle  fiercest  on  that  field ; 

Amid  the  foremost,  focal  blaze  of  fight ; 
In  righteous  anger  for  her  people's  wrongs, 

The  maid,  with  cheeks  aglow,  and  eyes  as  bright 
And  gleaming  as  incessant  lightnings  are 

Among  the  storm  clouds  of  the  night,  was  first ; 
And  as  the  nodding  helmet  of  Navarre, 

Her  form  shone  where  revenge  could  slake  its  thirst, 
Thus,  ere  was  heard  the  song  of  morning  lark, 
Proud  victory  kissed  this  Indian  Joan  of  Arc. 

The  years,  in  stately  decades,  passed  along ; 

To  gentle  Peace,  grim  War  had  bent  him  low, 
And  in  the  horizon  his  sable  plume 

Had,  northward,  disappeared,  and  now  the  bow 
Sped  arrows  only  in  the  chase,  or  when 

The  youths  and  warriors,  to  match  their  craft, 
At  targets  drove  the  whirring  dart,  and  vied 

To  send  afar,  and  high,  the  feathered  shaft, 
Fast  filled  the  woof  within  the  loom  of  fate, 
Where  now  the  Indian  lover  wooed  his  mate. 

From  far  off  lands,  across  the  mighty  sea, 

Whose  bosom  bore  the  glowing  orb  of  day, 
That  Great  Manito  sent  to  light  the  earth, 


OTHER  VERSE  143 

Came  strange  and  pale-faced  men,  who  sought  a 

way 
To  other  lands  behind  the  setting  sun, 

And  far  beyond  the  red  men's  furthest  ken. 
Twas   pearls,  and   gold,  and  precious  stones,  they 

craved ; 

And  'mong  them  came  some  pure  and  gallant  men, 
As  brave  Moreau,  Perrot,  and  Joliet, 
Tonti,  La  Salle,  and  pious  Pere  Marquette. 

Beside  the  Calumet,  a  limpid  stream, 

Lay  long  encamped  the  vanguard  of  the  host 
That  from  the  old  world's  teeming  multitudes 

Came  hitherward,  where  stands  the  pride  and  boast 
Of  all  the  shining  cities  of  the  earth, 

That  live  and  flourish  since  the  ancient  day 
When  Rome  sat  on  her  seven  clustered  hills, 

To  hold,  as  mistress  proud,  her  regal  sway ; 
And  this  was  "  Getchi-ka-go,"  in  the  song 
Of  Inini,  "  great,  beautiful  and  strong." 

To  all  the  region  of  the  Inini, 

For  France,  and  in  her  robber  monarch's  name,     \ 
Amid  Te  Deums  loud,  and  by  the  cross 

And  churchly  rite,  the  voyageurs  laid  claim. 
Then  came  the  hordes  of  monstrous  greed  and  crime 

From  Europe's  shores,  and  all  their  vices  spread, 
In  vile  contagion,  'mong  the  native  tribes ; 


144  OTHER  VERSE 

Thus  stalking  Wrong,  with  hard  and  cruel  tread, 
Crushed  low  the  tender  blades  of  fair  intent ; 
Then  savage  whoop  with  victim's  wail  was  blent. 

Meantime  the  good  Marquette  and  brave  La  Salle — 

The  one,  religion's  zealous  devotee, 
The  other,  blazing  empire's  rugged  way — 

Fought  gallantly  the  fight,  till  fate's  decree 
Sent  both,  untimely,  to  a  tragic  end ; 

La  Salle  beside  the  Mexic  gulf  laid  low, 
From  ambush,  by  a  vile  assassin's  hand ; 

And  Marquette,  where  Manistee's  waters  flow, 
While    homeward    bound,    to    seek   from    pain 

surcease, 
A  soldier  in  the  holy  war  of  peace. 

Southward,  along  Lake  Michigan's  wild  shores, 

Deep  silence  reigns  again,  save  when  in  fight 
The  warring  natives  meet,  and  weapons  ply 

That  give,  but  dully  forth,  the  sounds  when  might 
Braves  might,  to  strive  upon  the  battlefield. 

High  up,  the  eagle,  listless  in  the  air, 
Lies  poised  and  motionless,  on  outstretched  wing, 

And  safely  sleeps  the  wolf  beside  his  lair ; 
Unharmed  on  yonder  plain  the  bison  feeds, 
And  softly  flow  the  waters  'mong  the  reeds. 

But  lo !  what  wondrous  sight  is  that  away 
Upon  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  lake  ? 


OTHER  VERSE  145 

A  big  canoe,  with  wide  and  snow-white  wings. 

Let  all  that  was  so  still  and  dull  awake. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  comes,  and,  faith,  he  bears 

The  key  to  treasure  vaults — strong  enterprise — 
Before  him  hindrance  fails,  and  where  he  halts 
Resources  yield,  and  throbbing  cities  rise. 
Columbia  sends  a  hardy  host,  and  bold, 
To  raze,  to  build,  to  conquer  and  to  hold. 

So  here  arose  the  walls  of  Dearborn  fort, 

And  close  about,  the  hopeful  pioneer 
His  cabin  built,  and  earnest  laid  his  plans 

For  fortune,  health,  increase  and  goodly  cheer. 
A  village  grew  apace,  and  promise  shone 

Effulgent  where  the  wilderness  had  stood ; 
Here  traffic  blazed  its  never-halting  way, 

And  fell  before  the  axe  the  ancient  wood ; 

The  plowshare  turned  the  deep  and  virgin  soil, 
And  rich  reward  marched  side  by  side  with  toil. 

But  ever  'gainst  enlightenment's  advance, 

Stands,  stubborn,  stern  and  threatening,  a  foe ; 
The  best  must  always  fight  its  opening  way, 

And  gain  its  goal  through  trial,  hate  and  woe. 
Beside  the  just  and  noble  ones,  who  came 

To  civilize  the  western  wilds  and  raise 
The  structure  of  exalted  state,  were  knaves 

Of  every  mean  degree,  and  shape,  and  phase, 


140  OTHER  VERSE 

Whose  vile  misdeeds,  for  paltry  pelf  and  gain, 
Brought  ravage,  wreck,  and  havoc's  woeful  train. 

'Twas  thus,  once  more,  the  savage  swarms  uprose, 

By  famed  and  cruel  young  Tecumseh  led, 
And  through  the  region  of  the  northern  lakes 

A  ruthless  war  its  desolation  spread. 
By  treachery  and  deep  deceit,  beguiled, 

To  yield  the  weakened  fort,  in  ambush  fell 
The  Dearborn  garrison,  and  at  the  spot 

That's  marked  today  by  bronze,  with  horrid  yell 
The  red  fiends  dashed  upon  the  helpless  train, 
And  crimson  ran  Chicago's  sands  again. 

With  fury  unrestrained  the  savage  plied 

The  blazing  brand,  the  tomahawk  and  knife, 
And  low  in  ashes  fell  the  fane  of  Hope, 

Where  somber  hung  the  angry  clouds  of  strife. 
But  kind  and  gentle  Peace  returned,  and  now, 

From  far  across  the  seas,  for  Britain's  arm 
Had  erst  been  raised  in  harsh  and  allied  might, 

With  savages,  to  work  the  woeful  harm. 

Again,  and  stronger,  rose  Fort  Dearborn's  walls, 
And  progress  lifted  high  its  stately  halls. 

But  years  there  were  of  struggle,  toil  and  wait ; 

Then,  in  its  fullness,  comes  the  mighty  tide 
That  sweeps  away  the  wreckage  of  the  past ; 

Upon  its  breast  the  ships  of  triumph  ride ; 


OTHER  VERSE  147 

On  winged  heel  the  god  of  commerce  flies 

To  where  another  western  star  has  dawned 
Amid  the  union's  galaxy,  and  here, 
As  from  a  wave  of  his  caducean  wand, 
A  gem  within  a  gem,  Chicago,  gleams, 
As  sparks  that  glint  where  brightest  sunshine 
streams. 

Majestic  as  the  mountains  are,  that  stand 

In  Titan  ranks,  snow-helmeted,  and  fold 
A  cloak  of  cloud  about  their  rugged  forms ; 

Strong  as  a  bannered  army  is,  and  bold 
As  honor  dares  to  be,  Chicago  grew ; 

Her  name  was  heralded  abroad  as  one 
Whose  word  is  truth,  and  stronger  than  a  bond ; 

And  'mong  the  greatest  cities  'neath  the  sun 
She  held  exalted  place.     Hers  was  the  way 
Of  empire,  and  she  strode  with  regal  sway. 

Where  Nature's  God  had  most  sublimely  wrought ; 

In  all  the  west  a  glory  and  a  boast ; 
A  regnant  queen  and  radiant  she  stood, 

Her  legions  loyal  and  a  hardy  host. 
Her  realm  was  Liberty's  abiding  place  ; 

Upbuilt  her  altars  were  to  God  alone  ; 
To  freedom  were  her  faithful  people  vowed ; 

Her  rule  was  law,  and  right  her  only  throne. 

Bright  on  her  brow  the  star  of  Fortune  beamed  ;- 
Full  high  advanced,  her  graceful  banner  stream'd. 


148  OTHER  VERSE 

'Twas  thus  that  when  the  angry  cloud  of  war 

Stood  lurid  in  the  sky,  but  ere  it  swept 
In  raging  storm  across  the  troubled  land, 

And  from  its  breast  red  battle's  lightning  leapt, 
In  fair  Chicago's  halls  the  council  met 

That  chose,  to  be  the  nation's  head  and  guide, 
A  gaunt  and  humble  man,  who,  godlike,  rose 

To  highest  deeds,  and,  martyred,  meekly  died. 
His  harshest  foe  begrudges  not  his  fame, 
And  written  high  is  Lincoln's  deathless  name. 

In  blind  and  howling  fury — as  the  sea, 

That,  tempest-driven,  beats  its  dragon  wing 
Against  the  time-hewn  cliffs  and  glaciered  walls 

Of  some  bleak  northern  coast,  and,  bellowing, 
Roars  its  anger  to  the  skies — so  beat 

The  storm  of  civil  war,  in  lashing  rage, 
Against  the  young  republic's  battlements, 

And  shook  the  fabric,  as  when  Titans  wage 
Terrific  strife,  and  in  their  wrestlings  jolt 
The  rock-ribbed  hills  as  by  a  thunderbolt. 

Then  to  the  fore,  in  eager,  bristling  lines, 

Chicago's  steel-crowned  columns  swung  along ; 

A  great  and  grim  array  of  fighting  men, 
And  singing  freedom's  ringing  battle  song. 

Before  the  red-breathed  cannon's  brazen  mouth, 
That  belched  torn  death  in  hot  and  hurtling  shot ; 


OTHER  VERSE  149 

Before  the  leaden  hail  of  musketry, 

Onward  they  bravely  bent,  and  faltered  not, 

But  faced  war's  smiting  gusts  and  proudly  sang 
A  hymn  of  glory  when  the  peace  bells  rang. 

But  they,  and  all  their  armed  comrades,  met 

A  gallant  foe,  full  worthy  of  their  steel. 
It  was  as  in  the  valiant  times  of  old, 

When  Greek  joined  Greek  ;  for  true  were  they,  and 

leal— 

Those  southern  souls — to  what  they  deemed  the  right, 
And  nobly  fought  for  cause,  for  home  and  hearth; 
'Twas  Anglo-Saxon  lustihood  that  clashed, 

'Mong  men  of  equal  nerve,  and  brawn,  and  birth. 
Long  and  relentless  waged  the  awful  strife, 
And  rippling  flowed  the  ruddy  tide  of  life. 

Back  to  the  peaceful  callings  they  had  left — 

When  war  was  done — came,  heartfully,  the  men 
That  death  had  missed.     Back  to  the  forge  and  bench, 

The  busy  mart,  the  easel  and  the  pen. 
The  great  and  robust  city  grew  apace, 

Beneath  the  smiles  and  promisings  of  peace ; 
Her  people  thrived,  and  hopeful  were,  as  those 

That  Jason  led  to  seek  "The  Golden  Fleece." 
The  world,  admiring,  watched  her  high  emprise, 
And,  wond'ring,  saw  her  noble  structures  rise. 


150  OTHER  VERSE 

Of  rich  success  almost  a  decade  passed, 

When  fell  disaster,  red  and  roaring,  came, 
And  prone,  Chicago,  torn  and  ravaged,  lay, 

Where    stalked    the    monstrous   monarch   of   the 

Flame. 
Along  the  fire  despot's  cindering  march, 

And  where  beneath  his  white-hot,  iron  heel,  r  |r 
Huge  walls  of  steel  and  stone  are  crushed,  his  imps 
And  myrmidons  before  him  dance  and  reel, 
And  hiss  and  scream  in  devilish,  ribald  play ; 
With  blazing  besoms  sweeping  homes  away. 

In  league  with  havoc,  rush  the  wanton  winds, 

That  drive  about  destruction's  burning  rain, 
And  shriek  in  hoarse  discordance  with  the  flames 

That  screech  like  fiends  infernal  and  insane, 
Till  miles  and  miles  of  torrid  fury  boil ; 

A  sea  of  hell  upon  the  sodden  earth  ; 
A  molten  belt  across  the  city  lay, 

And  glowing  as  Gehenna's  candent  hearth. 
Along  the  shores  of  this  plutonic  sea 
Howl  packs  of  human  wolves,  in  beastly  glee 

In  crumbling  ruin  lay  Chicago's  halls, 
Her  temples  and  her  monuments  of  art, 

The  homes  of  rich  and  poor,  of  pure  and  vile, 
The  palace  and  the  hut,  the  merchant's  mart ; 

Her  churches,  and  the  gilded  dens  of  vice ; 


OTHER   VERSE  151 

Her  towers  toppled  and  her  facades  razed ; 
A  noble  city  crushed  and  overthrown ; 

Her  people  stunned  and  all  the  world  amazed. 
In  black  and  ashen  wreck  the  work  of  years 
Had  gone,  and  hope  was  almost  drowned  in  tears. 

In  high  resolve  and  self-reliant  mien, 

From  out  the  smoking  ruin,  stanch  and  strong, 
Chicago's  dauntless  spirit  rose  again, 

And  ere  the  embers  cooled,  her  eager  throng 
Of  enterprising  men  were  laying,  deep, 

The  firm  foundations  of  her  future  state. 
Meanwhile,  her  sister  cities  helpful  came, 

With  gracious  deeds  the  gods  might  emulate. 
Then  mantled  on  her  face  a  grateful  glow, 
And  bright  as  sunshine  on  the  leveled  snow. 

Great  and  majestic,  grander  than  before ; 

In  rare  proportions  lifted,  chaste  and  strong, 
Chicago's  palaces  of  trade  and  art, 

Exalted  rose,  a  glory  and  a  song, 
Her  avenues  and  parks,  her  towered  halls, 

Her  cottages  and  courts,  her  princely  homes, 
Her  mills,  her  statues  and  her  monuments, 

Her  arched  arcades  and  welkin-reaching  domes — 
All  these,  and  more,  are  pledges  of  her  worth, 
As  queen  among  the  cities  of  the  earth. 


152  OTHER  VERSE 

Through  every  land  and  clime  beneath  the  sun ; 

From  torrid  belt  to  where  the  frozen  zones 
Engirt  the  earth,  in  fair  Columbia's  name, 

Chicago  called,  to  subjects  and  to  thrones, 
And  craved  that  for  a  season  they  should  come, 

To  honor  him  who  braved  the  unknown  sea, 
And  found  a  land  where  men  have  learned  to  know 

Their  human  rights,  and  knowing  them  are  free ; 
To  celebrate  the  time  when  fate  unfurled 
Advancement's  banner  in  the  western  world. 

Thus  nations  came  and  brought  their  handiwork ; 
Their    wondrous    arts,    their    learning    and    their 

thought ; 
Their  ways,  their  manners  and  their  mysteries, 

And  with  these  sovereign  states,  they  freely  wrought 
To  build  the  great  White  City,  marvelous 

And  grand,  that  as  a  vision  came  and  went, 
Its  dazzling  beauty  flashed  in  lucent  light 
Upon  the  soul,  and  then  with  echo  blent. 

'Twas  there !    'Tis  gone  !    It  did  not  only  seem, 
Yet  now  'tis  but  a  memory  and  a  dream. 

Man  stood  surprised,  bewildered  and  amazed, 
Amid  the  work  that  he  himself  had  done ; 

Spellbound  and  marveling,  in  awe  he  gazed — 
Delighted  yet — upon  the  victory  won. 

The  world  was  here,  in  every  shade  and  phase ; 


OTHER   VERSE  153 

Its  substance  and  its  symmetry ;  and  sight 
Had  never  met  a  fairer  scene  than  that. 

'Twas  beauty's  arm  thrust  from  a  robe  of  light. 
Strong  Science  found  sweet  Poesy  and  wooed, 
And  she  his  way  with  fragrant  bloom  bestrewed. 

Captive  was  nature  made;  for  on  the  sands 

Sweet  flowers  bloomed,  amid  the  verdant  grass ; 
A  forest  on  the  plain  arose,  and  deep 

Ran  limpid  waters  where  the  dark  morass 
Had  reeked  its  vapors,  foul,  for  centuries ; 

Great  shining  palaces  sprang  up,  and  gleamed 
In  white  and  dazzling  splendor,  and  the  spray 

Of  fountains,  iridescent,  flashed  and  beamed, 
Where  erst  the  slimy  snake  and  winking  toad, 
By  scum-hid  pools,  had  held  their  foul  abode. 

All  ranks  and  races  met ;  the  prince  and  clown 

In  easy  fellowship  ;  and  here  began, 
Amid  the  harmonies  of  art  and  skill, 

A  new  and  better  brotherhood  of  man. 
Religions,  that  have  ever  been  at  war — 

Of  grim  intolerance  the  type  and  seal- 
Conferred  in  cordial  terms.     All  rivalry 

Was  kind,  and  seemed  to  wish  the  common  weal. 
Music  and  jangle,  sounding  side  by  side, 
By  chisel,  brush  and  pen  were  glorified. 


154  OTHER   VERSE 

Chicago's  nerve,  her  forcefulness  and  might, 

Her  high  ambition  and  her  queenly  grace, 
Were  elements  that  guided  all ;  and  thus 

She  won  clear  title  to  the  stately  place 
That  trial,  triumph,  weal  and  woe  have  wrought 

To  test  her  worthiness.     So  she  will  stand, 
Through  ages,  strong  and  brave,  true  to  the  right, 

Hopeful  and  free,  magnificent  and  grand. 

Oh !     Great  Jehovah !     Guide  her  steps  aright, 
And  bless  her  way  with  wisdom's  truest  light. 


Songs  of  War  and 
Peace 


Songs  of  War  and 
Peace 


THE  DOVE. 

'Twas  a  weary  day  of  marching  in  the  sun, 
'Neath  a  charing  weight  of  haversack  and  gun, 

And  we  heard  the  roar  of  fight, 

As  we  dragged  into  the  night, 
Wicked,  thirsty,  hungry,  dusty,  gray  and  dun. 

Words  were  few,  and  barely  muttered— 

Not  a  kindly  one  was  uttered, 
But  we  halted,  near  the  morning,  in  the  dark, 
Where  torn  and  tumbled  heapings,  black  and 
stark, 

The  awful  driftings  lay, 

Swept  down  from  yesterday. 
Now,  with  the  light,  comes  back  the  fight, 
And  blaze  and  smoke  shut  out  that  sight. 

Mad  clash,  and  clang,  and  rattle, 

The  hum  and  roar  of  battle, 
And  the  swinging,  and  the  ringing  of  cold  steel, 
Men  are  dying  'neath  the  war-god's  iron  heel, 
The  bullets  whizz  and  spatter,  whirr  and  whine, 


158  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

And  the  plunge  of  heavy  shot 

Leaves  its  jagged,  crimson  blot, 
In  places  that  are  shredded,  'long  the  line. 

Now  a  high  and  swelling  cheer, 

Sounds  above  the  battle,  clear, 
And  the  sweeping  charge  is  victory's  wild  sign, 


In  the  quiet  of  a  woodland,  far  away, 

I've  been  thinking  of  that  dreadful  battle  day, 
And  it  comes  to  me  again, 
With  the  oaths  of  fighting  men, 

And  the  double  roar  of  double  war-array. 

Give  me  my  sword  !     Fall  in !  Fall  in ! — 
No,  'tis  a  dream,  not  battle's  din — 

Far  comes  a  soft,  sweet  song  of  love, 

The  mate-call  of  the  wooing  dove. 


THE  OTHER  END  OF  WAR. 

When  civil  war  was  going  on 

And  all  the  neighbor  boys  had  gone 

To  fight,  one  side  or  t'other, 
I  had  a  time  to  get  away, 
For  there  was  no  one  else  to  stay 

And  do  for  my  old  mother. 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  159 

Besides,  my  sister  and  my  wife 
Were  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life, 

And  cried,  when  I  insisted 
That  every  healthy  man  should  go 
To  help  his  country,  then,  and  so, 

One  day  I  went  and  'listed. 

For  three  long  years,  in  march  and  fight, 
I  did  my  share,  as  nearly  right 

As  God  gave  me  to  know  it ; 
And  if  I  hankered  overmuch 
For  home  and  loved  ones,  peace  and  such, 

I  tried  hard  not  to  show  it. 

I  didn't  know — for  I  was  young — 
How  cruelly  their  souls  were  wrung, 

In  all  that  weary  waiting — 
The  pain  of  doubt,  the  tears  and  dread — 
And  how  their  hearts  from  anguish  bled, 

In  prayers  for  war's  abating. 

But  lately  I  have  learned  to  know 
The  trials  and  the  weight  of  woe 

That  come  to  them  who  love  us, 
When  we  are  soldiers,  gone  afar, 
The  playthings  of  the  fiend  of  war, 

By  all  that's  good  above  us. 


160  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

My  son's  a  soldier  'cross  the  sea ; 
His  wife  and  baby,  they're  with  me, 

And  blamed  if  I  ain't  thinkin' 
That  wife  and  mother,  sister  too, 
Are  worryin'  the  whole  day  through, 

And  that  keeps  me  a-blinkin'. 

They  sigh  and  weep,  and  moan  and  pray, 
And  look  so  anxious  every  day, 

That  in  their  pain  and  sadness 
I  see  how  women  suffer  most 
Of  all  the  mighty  human  host 

That's  lashed  in  war's  red  madness. 

So,  in  it  all,  I'd  rather  be 

A  soldier  at  the  front,  you  see, 

Than  just  an  old  back  number, 
Whose  heart  is  tender,  though  it's  old, 
And  never  can,  'midst  grief,  be  cold, 

Though  cased  in  time-cracked  lumber. 

And  now  I'd  like  to  hear  the  drums 
That  beat  when  Johnnie  Soldier  comes 

A'  marchin'  back  from  battle. 
As  gray  and  limpy  as  I  am, 
By  hokey-poke  and  coffer-dam  ! 

I'd  make  this  old  place  rattle. 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  161 

BATTLE. 

A  bugle-call — two  quick,  Sharp  notes — 

Commands  the  column :  "  Halt !  " 
To  hearts  that  high  ambition  thrills, 

Leaps  hope  with  sudden  vault ; 
In  hearts  of  men  that  duty  rules, 

Stern  resolution  reigns ; 
In  hearts  that  dread  of  danger  thralls, 

The  ruddy  current  wanes. 

A  crackling  'long  the  skirmish  line, 

A  fringe  of  puffs  of  white, 
And  here  and  there  a  reeling  man, 

Gives  earnest  of  the  fight ; 
Now,  loud  and  long,  the  bugles  cry 

The  "  Forward !     Double  quick ! " 
And,  bending  to  the  front,  the  men 

Push  where  the  bullets  flick. 

A  flaming  sheet ;  a  flash  and  crash, 

Along  the  rifle-pits 
That  rib  the  sides  of  yonder  slope, 

And  now  the  welkin  splits, 
When  red-breathed,  roaring,  brazen  guns, 

With  hot  and  hurtling  shot, 
Spurt  shredded  death  amidst  the  ranks, 

That,  cheering,  falter  not. 


162  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

For  answer,  bellowing  within 

The  charging  column's  wake, 
The  light  artillery  salutes 

In  thunderings  that  shake 
The  clustered  hills,  and  one  deep  roar 

Of  battle  has  begun, 
Where  rampant  wrath  has  seized  the  earth, 

And  blotted  out  the  sun. 

Two  jagged  lines,  in  squirming  knots, 

Stretched  over  hill  and  vale, 
Betwixt  them  stake  the  cloud-hid  space, 

Where  lead  and  iron  hail 
Drives  criss-cross,  zigzag,  scurrying, 

In  screech,  and  hiss,  and  whine, 
Across  that  hell,  like  flying  snakes 

Envenomed  and  malign. 

Deep  in  the  dreadful  din  and  strife, 

In  fitful,  hazy  gleams, 
A  well-beloved  hope  and  guide, 

The  battle  banner  streams ; 
As  in  the  sea-storm  mounts  and  falls 

The  ship  that  rides  the  waves, 
So  lifts  and  dips  the  battle  flag 

Where  war's  red  tempest  raves. 

Now  here  before  a  galling  gust, 
One  brave  battalion  reels, 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  163 

A  moment  stunned  and  staggering — 

The  color-sergeant  kneels 
With  them  who  are  his  banner's  guard, 

But  rising  from  the  blow, 
To  front  he  speeds,  and  lo !  the  line 

Bends  forward  like  a  bow. 

A  faint  and  feeble  tenor  shout 

Becomes  a  deep  bass  roar, 
And  on  the  tumbling  column  sweeps 

As  breakers  strike  the  shore ; 
It  batters  'gainst  the  line  of  works, 

Then  dashes  full  amain, 
High  over  wall  and  ditch,  and  floods 

An  open  field  again. 

The  pressing  line,  with  vantage  flushed, 

Crowds  grimly  on  the  foe, 
That,  stubborn,  yields  no  inch  not  fought, 

But  deals  his  blow  for  blow, 
Till  from  a  raking  enfilade, 

Of  shrapnel,  shell  and  shot, 
The  bleeding  remnant  quits  the  field 

That  pluck  from  valor  got. 

The  powder-clouds  and  sulph'rous  stench 

Uplift  and  blow  away, 
And  side  by  side,  in  soldier  sleep — 


164  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

And  peace — lie  Blue  and  Gray ; 
The  saddened  sun  sinks  red  adown 

The  western  sky,  and,  lo ! 
The  lightnings  flash,  to  Love  that  lost, 

Another  crash  of  woe. 


WAR. 

By  blazing  homes,  through  forests  torn, 

And  blackened  harvest-fields, 
The  grim  and  drunken  god  of  war 

In  frenzied  fury  reels. 

His  breath — the  sulph'rous  stench  of  guns — 

That  death  and  famine  deals, 
And  Pity,  pleading,  wounded,  falls 

Beneath  his  steel-shod  heels. 


THE  ANGLO-SAXON  WAY. 

High  flies  the  flag  of  freedom,  by  Columbia 
unfurled, 

And  gracefully  'tis  draping  in  the  breezes  of  the 
world ; 

Bright  shines  the  gleaming  galaxy  of  interlink- 
ing stars, 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  165 

While  stream  in  undulating  waves  its  white  and 
crimson  bars. 

0 

The  true  sons  of  America  and  Britain  firmly 
hold 

The  grasp  of  hearty  friendliness,  stronger  far 
than  bands  of  gold ; 

No  more  they  meet  as  enemies,  in  grim  and 
hostile  ranks, 

But  now  as  brethren  of  one  blood,  enlighten- 
ment's phalanx, 

They  meet  as  freemen  everywhere,  and  closer 
weave  the  bands 

That  bind  the  kindred  people  of  these  our  kin- 
dred lands ; 

And  they  sing  the  same  rich  music,  that,  swell- 
ing as  the  sea, 

Doth  blend  with  grand  "  God  Save  the  Queen," 
"  My  Country,  'Tis  of  Thee." 

All  proudly  praise  the    heroes   that   freedom's 

battle  won, 
As  British  men   of  letters  and   statesmanship 

have  done. 
In  days  of  war  and  days  of  peace,  in  forum,  field 

and  home, 
Where'er  the  British  drumbeat's  heard,  beneath 

the  ether  dome ; 


166  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

From  eloquence  of  mighty  Pitt,  who  gave  fair 

Justice  tongue, 
To  praises  of  George  Washington,  that  gifted 

Byron  sung ; 
From  Green,  the  great  historian  of  Britain's  rule 

and  sway, 
To  Cobden,  Bright  and  Gladstone  of  her  brilliant 

latter  day ; 

With  Macaulay  and  with  Thackeray,  and  other 
mighty  men, 

Who  Albion's  glory  have  enriched  with  miter, 
sword  and  pen  ; 

Whose  breadth  and  wealth  of  candor  magnani- 
mously gave 

The  meed  of  praise  and  honor  to  Columbia's 
true  and  brave. 

So  let  the  nation's  bells  ring  out,  and  all  her 

banners  wave, 
While  freedom's  light  from  freedom's  sun  the 

blessed  land  shall  lave, 
And  while    the   blended    songs   we    sing  shall 

drown  the  marplot's  yells, 
Sound  loud  the  cornets,  roll  the  drums  and  ring 

the  nation's  bells. 

Fling  out  the  flag  that  patriots  have  trusting 
followed  when 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  167 

Dread  battle's  blight  has  tried  the  souls  of  truest, 

bravest  men, 
And  when,  betimes,  'twas  only  seen  within  the 

rifting  cloud 
Before  whose  storm  of  leaden  hail  War's  sable 

plume  has  bowed. 

And  while  the  bells  are  ringing,  and  joy  is  every- 
where ; 

While  Harmony  is  singing  two  songs  of  single 
air, 

We'll  praise  the  God  of  nations,  and  one  undy- 
ing love, 

And  bow  in  grateful  thankfulness  for  blessings 
from  above. 

And  let  us  hope  the  pattern  set  by  Anglo-Saxon 

sires, 
Who  lit  for  all  humanity  sweet  freedom's  altar 

fires, 
May  serve  till  all  the  nations  shall  stand  beside 

us  here, 
Unawed  by  any  despot's  rule,  or  aught  to  make 

them  fear. 

Then  higher  yet  the  banner  of  Columbia  shall 

fly- 

And  brighter  shine  the  gleaming  stars,  against 
its  azure  sky ; 


168  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

And  yet  more  gracefully  shall  wave,  its  bars  of 

red  and  white, 
An  emblem  and  a  talisman  of  perfect  human 

right. 


BLUE  AND  GRAY  ARE  ONE. 

Hurrah  for  the  north  !  Hurrah  for  the  south ! 

Hurrah  for  the  east  and  the  west ! 
The  nation  is  one,  undivided  and  free, 

And  all  of  its  sons  are  the  best. 
Together  the  men  of  the  whole  blessed  land 
Are  firmly  united  in  one  mighty  band, 
And  they  that  were  once  the  Blue  and  the  Gray 
Are  gathered  beneath  dear  Old  Glory  today, 

With  men  of  both  sides  in  command. 

Then  march,  boys,  march;  we'll  set  fair  Cuba 
free! 

March,  boys,  march ;  with  Miles  and  Fitzhugh 
Lee. 

Forward,  all  the  line!  and  be  your  song's  re- 
frain : 

"  America  for  freemen,"  and,  "  The  flag  with- 
out a  stain ! " 

Hurrah  for  the  blue  !     Hurrah  for  the  gray ! 
Hurrah  for  the  sons  of  them  all ! 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  169 

Together  we  come,  and  united  we  stand, 

To  answer  humanity's  call ; 
Freemen  arising,  to  dash  down  the  foe ; 
Blue  and  gray  dealing  him  death  at  each  blow; 
Mingling  a  host  from  the  north  and  the  south, 
'Neath  the  same  banner,  and  from  every  mouth 

One  battle  cry,  "  Freedom  ! "  shall  go. 

Hurrah  for  the  guns  !     Hurrah  for  the  ships ! 

Hurrah  for  the  flag  of  the  stars ! 
Hurrah  for  the  men  who  fought  under  that ! 

Or  under  the  stars  and  the  bars ! 
They're  rallying  now,  brave,  ardent  and  strong, 
To  punish  injustice  and  overthrow  wrong ; 
Columbia  rises  and  leads  in  the  fight, 
Her  sons  to  do  battle  for  honor  and  right, 

And  they're  singing  America's  song. 


ALL  IN  GRAY. 

Twas  nearly  forty  years  ago— 
A  long,  long  time  away — 

That  some  of  us  were  boys  in  blue 
And  some  were  boys  in  gray. 

But  at  the  end  of  many  years, 
Along  life's  rugged  way, 


170  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

The  blue  has  mingled  with  the  skies, 
And  all  are  boys  in  gray. 

The  true  and  brave  of  all  the  hosts, 

That  wore  the  blue  and  gray, 
And  fought  for  what  they  deemed  the  right, 

Are  done  with  war  today. 
The  rosy,  round-limbed  Queen  of  Peace 

Has  broken  war's  array ; 
His  hosts,  disarmed,  are  silver-haired, 

And  all  are  boys  in  gray. 


THE  REGIMENTAL  FLAG. 

There  are  tears, 

and  cheers, 

dear  comrades, 

For  the  flag  that's  called  "  Old  Glory," 
When  its  folds,  unfurled,  are  waving, 
And  the  pages  of  its  story 
We  are  turning  once  again. 

They  are  light, 

and  bright, 

the  colors, 

That  shine  upon  that  banner, 
From  northern  lakes  to  southern  gulf, 
From  ocean  to  savanna, 

And  across  the  western  plain. 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  ifl 

One  that's  worn, 

and  torn, 

and  ribboned, 

We  have  followed,  marching,  singing, 
In  the  days  of  strong  young  manhood, 
And  still  those  songs  are  ringing 

In  the  gray  and  grand  old  souls, 
Who,  in  life's 

hard  strife, 

still  trudging, 

Hold  it  dearest  of  all  banners, 
For  it  led  them,  marching,  fighting, 
Through  sorrows  and  hosannahs, 
By  the  glory  of  its  folds. 

So,  with  tears, 

and  cheers, 

we  greet  it, 

And  with  songs  of  love  and  gladness, 
For  the  mem'ries  clustered  'round  it  teem, 
With  fondness  and  with  sadness, 

And  the  lights  and  shades  of  days, 
That  in  youth, 

and  truth, 

and  trial, 

Made  the  tinting  of  life's  manner, 
For  we  laughed  and  sang,  and  comrades  died 
Around  that  brave  old  banner, 
In  battle's  blare  and  blaze. 


172  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

It  was  borne, 

and  torn, 

in  battle ; 

Oft  it  rested  by  the  fountains ; 
On  the  dusty  march  it  fluttered, 
And  it  waved  upon  the  mountains, 

From  many  a  rugged  crag. 
Now  the  stars, 

and  bars, 

of  "Glory" 

In  peace  are  grandly  streaming, 
And  mingled  with  the  story, 
In  freshest  beauty  beaming, 
Is  the  regimental  flag. 


RHODA  RAGLAND. 

'Twas  the  mornin'  after  Shiloh, 

'Way  down  in  Tennessee, 
I  was  cruisin'  'round  among  the  woods- 

A  friend  of  mine  and  me, 
When  I  seed  a  little  maiden 

Who  was  settin'  on  a  gun, 
That  was  busted  at  the  muzzle 

From  the  work  that  it  had  done. 

She  had  throwed  a  bit  of  banner 
Acrost  her  golden  head, 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  173 

An'  when  I  ast  her  for  her  name, 
She  laughed  and  then  she  said, 
"  My  name  is  Rhoda  Raglan', 

An'  I'm  waitin',  don't  you  see, 
For  pappy  dear  to  come  back  here, 
Wif  '  sompen  good  for  me. 

"  We  was  livin'  in  the  cabin, 

In  the  clarin'  over  thar, 
Where  the  little  crick  went  rattlin'  by 

So  sparklin'  an'  so  clar, 
But  now  the  water's  muddy, 

An'  it's  bloody,  an'  the  banks 
Is  trompled,  an'  my  posies 

Is  jest  ruined  by  them  Yanks. 

"  Our  cabin's  full  of  hurted  men, 

They  groaned  the  worstest  way — 
They  was  hurted  in  the  battle 

With  we'uns  yesterday, 
An'  ther  arms  an'  legs  a'bleedin', 

It  was  sich  er  awful  sight, 
I  didn't  sleep  a  little  wink 

The  livelong  night, 

"  So  I've  come,  good  Mr.  Man, 

To  wait  for  pappy  here, 
My  mother  went  away  to  God, 


174  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

Last  winter  was  a  year, 
An'  we  was  livin'  all  alone 

In  the  cabin  over  thar, 
An'  why  he  don't  come  back  to  me 

I  think  it's  monst'ous  quar." 

She  was  a  pooty  five-year-old, 

With  eyes  of  deepest  blue, 
An'  flossy  curls  an'  dimpled  cheeks, 

With  roses  in  'em  too. 
I  had  some  little  kids  at  home, 

Just  like  this  battle  waif, 
And  now  I  thanked  the  Lord  above 

That  they  were  well  and  safe. 

A  minie  ball  had  pierced  my  arm, 

That  lay  now  in  a  sling ; 
The  hurt  was  just  a  flesh-cut, 

An'  the  pain  a  smartish  sting, 
But  I  had  got  it  fairly, 

An'  well  enough  I  knew, 
The  helpless  arm  would  take  me  home 

Within  a  day  or  two. 

So  I  plead  with  Rhoda  Raglan' 

To  go  along  with  me, 
An*  maybe  we  would  find  her  pap 

Somewhar  in  Tennessee. 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  175 

An'  yit  I  know'd  her  father 

Was  away  beyond  life's  ills, 
So  I  tuck  her  to  Kentucky 

To  my  home  among  the  hills. 

We  raised  her  jest  as  good  an'  true, 

As  ef  she'd  been  our  own, 
Blood  of  mine  and  mother's, 

And  bone  of  our  bone, 
An*  she's  been  as  good  a  daughter 

As  any  of  the  three, 
An'  a  blessing  to  my  homestead, 

An'  to  mother  an'  to  me. 

She's  thirty-six,  or  thereabouts, 

I  can't  exactly  tell — 
But  she  married  in  the  neighborhood, 

And  married  monstrous  well ; 
An'  she's  got  a  little  daughter, 

That  prattles  at  my  knee, 
An'  'minds  me  heaps  of  Rhoda, 

Down  at  Shiloh — don't  you  see  ? 


176  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

"LE  REVE." 

Sleep,  ah  sleep,  ye  brave,  and  listen, 

In  your  dreams  to  battle's  hum ; 
See  the  foeman's  armor  glisten ; 

Hear  the  bugle-note  and  drum. 
Heads  that  rest  on  unslung  knapsacks, 

'Neath  your  blankets  and  the  night, 
Close  beside  the  bristling  gunstacks, 

Dream  of  morrow  and  the  fight. 

From  the  cottage  homes  or  manors, 

Whence  ye  came,  a  nation's  pride, 
Prayers  are  rising  for  your  banners, 

And  that  weal  may  them  betide. 
'Twixt  the  hearthstone  and  the  bivouac, 

Love  is  whisp'ring  words  of  cheer ; 
Twixt  the  pillow  and  the  knapsack, 

Love,  in  dreams,  brings  lovers  near. 

When  those  heads  are  white  with  glory, 

When  the  shadows  from  the  west 
Lengthen  as  ye  tell  your  story, 

In  the  vet'ran's  ward  of  rest, 
May  no  ingrate's  word  of  sneering 

Reach  one  heart  of  all  the  brave, 
But  may  honor,  praise  and  cheering 

Guard  old  valor  to  the  grave. 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  177 

DAUGHTERS  OF  AMERICA. 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  your  sweetest  chimes ; 
Sing,  all  ye  poets,  dulcet  rhymes ; 
Shout  loud,  ye  crowds,  in  strongest  praise ; 
Shine  out,  fair  sun,  in  softest  rays, 

And  dance,  ye  rippling  waters. 
For  Freedom's  sons  will  sing  a  song, 
That  in  a  chorus,  high  and  strong, 
Shall  sounding  ring,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Whose  grandest  harmony  shall  be, 

America's  true  daughters. 

Oh,  they  are  loyal,  brave  and  true, 
And  fair  the  red,  and  white  and  blue, 
That  in  the  nation's  colors  rise, 
Shine  in  their  cheeks  and  brows  and  eyes 

And  glow  upon  their  banners. 
From  ocean  shore  to  mountain  crest ; 
From  north  and  south  and  east  and  west ; 
From  all  the  bright  and  beauteous  land, 
They  come,  a  blessing-laden  band, 

And  singing  sweet  hosannahs. 

With  cheering  words  from  such  a  mouth 
As  thine,  oh  daughter  of  the  south ! 
And  love  from  such  a  loyal  breast 
As  thine,  oh  daughter  of  the  west ! 


178  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

The  sons  can  never  falter. 
And  while  in  north  and  east  shall  stand 
The  loyal,  helping,  sister  band, 
Sweet  Freedom's  day  shall  know  no  night, 
But  ever  shall  the  flame  glow  bright 

Upon  the  country's  altar. 


A  SONG  OF  PEACE. 

Silver  white,  a  cloud  is  drifting, 

In  the  nation's  radiant  sky; 
Through  it  lucent  beams  are  rifting, 

Where  "  Old  Glory's  "  colors  fly. 
From  that  throne  of  blessed  Freedom, 

Comes  a  song  should  never  cease ; 
Rolling  on,  a  great  Te  Deum ; 

'Tis  the  mighty  song  of  Peace ; 

'Tis  the  dulcet  song  of  Peace. 

Kneels  the  war-god,  calm  and  humble, 
'Fore  the  dazzling  hosts  that  sing 

Anthems  hushing  battle's  rumble ; 
Songs  that  down  from  heaven  ring; 

Waving  there  the  snow-white  banner, 
Robed  in  Honor's  spotless  fleece ; 

Seraphs  chant  the  sweet  hosannah ; 


SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  179 

Sing  the  antiphon  of  Peace ; 
Chant  the  psalmody  of  Peace. 

Oh,  the  sorrow  and  the  glory, 
That  the  swelling  anthem  tells ! 

Battles  won  and  war's  red  story, 
Roaring  guns  and  ringing  bells  ; 

Tears  that  flow  for  heroes  martyred, 
Winning  Fame's  unending  lease ; 

Lives  for  country's  honor  bartered, 
And  the  blessed  song  of  Peace 
And  the  joyous  song  of  Peace. 


A  SONG  OF  THANKSGIVING. 

God  of  the  nations ;  Lord  of  all ; 

Father  of  Love  and  Peace ; 
With  swelling  hearts  and  singing  souls, 

And  gratitude's  increase, 
We,  lovers  of  this  blessed  land, 

Thank  Thee,  the  only  King 
To  whom  a  freeman  bends  the  knee, 

And  joyously  we  sing 
Thy  praises,  till  Columbia's  skies 

With  high  hosannahs  ring : 
The  King !  The  King ! 
Blest  be  the  freeman's  King ! 


180  SONGS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

From  peace,  through  battle  Thou  hast  led, 

And  with  "  Good-will  to  men," 
The  snow-white  banner  drapes  beside 

"  Old  Glory's  "  folds  again. 
Now  North  and  South,  of  this  fair  land, 

Are  welded  in  the  blaze 
Of  war's  red  furnace,  closer  yet, 

And,  as  in  olden  days, 
The  music  of  the  Union  rings 

To  Freedom's  God,  in  praise : 
The  King!  The  King! 
Blest  be  the  freeman's  King ! 


"OLD  GLORY." 

See  in  the  banner's  splendor,  bright 
The  crimson,  white  and  blue  unite, 
And  'mong  the  undulating  bars 
Gleam,  honor's  light,  the  twinkling  stars, 
Till  blest  to  sight  and  pure  as  gold, 
The  flag,  "  Old  Glory,"  is  unrolled. 

O'er  all  the  land,  on  every  sea, 
Floats  high  this  ensign  of  the  free, 
And  guided  by  its  lambent  light, 
Our  young  republic,  in  the  right, 
Leads  ever  onward,  stern  arrayed, 
And  wielding  Freedom's  battle-blade. 


Negro  Dialect 
Verses 


Negro  Dialect  Verses 


IN  THE  FALL  OF  THE  YEAR. 

De  leaves  is  sorter  turnin' 

On  de  sycamo'  trees ; 
Bar's  a  quar  kind  er  feelin' 

In  de  cool  mawnin'  breeze ; 
De  worl'  is  lookin'  dreamy, 

An'  somehow  it  'pear 
Dat  de  sunbeams  is  sifted, 

In  de  fall  of  de  year. 

Hit  seem  as  ef  dey's  shinin' 

In  a  shimmer  sort  er  way, 
Dat  could  sing  er  song  er  sorrow, 

To'des  de  eendin'  o'  de  day, 
Wid  music  lak  de  dove  make, 

When  settin'  dar  in  fear 
She  gwine  to  lose  her  true-love, 

In  de  fall  of  de  year. 

You  mighty  glad  you  livin', 
An'  you  takes  er  heap  er  res' ; 

De  worl'  is  kind  an'  gentle, 
An'  you  looks  to'des  de  wes', 


184  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Whar  de  golden  sun's  er  sinkin', 
An'  you  doan  sorter  keer  ; 

You  waits  for  whut  is  comin', 
In  de  fall  of  de  year. 

You  knows,  a  little  later, 

Mistuh  Pros'  he  gwine  to  come 
An'  candy  dem  persimmons, 

Whut  you  gwine  to  gather  some, 
While  de  possum  is  er  fat'nin', 

An'  you  meks  dat  'simmon  beer, 
For  to  drink  wid  dat  ole  possum, 

In  de  fall  of  de  year. 

When  de  woods  is  look  de  fines' 

In  gold,  an'  green,  an  red, 
An'  de  apples  is  er  tumblin' 

F'um  de  limbs  overhead, 
Dey's  a  tender  sort  er  feelin', 

Lak  er  crowdin'  back  a  tear, 
An'  dar's  somebody  missin' 

In  de  fall  of  de  year. 

You  does  a  heap  er  thinkin', 
Of  de  times  dat  done  is  pas', 

De  spring  an'  de  summer-time, 
Dat  went  so  mighty  fas' ; 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  185 

De  mawnin'  of  yo'  chilehood, 

When  happiness  was  here, 
An'  you  never  thought  to  bother 

'Bout  de  fall  of  de  year. 

Hit's  gittin'  to'des  de  evenin', 

When  you  teks  to  lookin'  back, 
An'  de  load  is  gittin'  heavy 

Whut  you  useter  love  to  pack; 
When  de  sun  is  shinin'  slantin', 

An'  sorrow  seem  a'near, 
Lak  de  song  of  dove  a'mournin', 

In  de  fall  of  de  year. 


ROSIE'S  SUNDAY  CLOTHES. 

Um  er  talkin'  mighty  proper, 

Whut  um  talkin'  to  you  now ; 
You  gwine  to  'gree  wid  all  I  say, 

Er  win'  up  in  a  row, 
Kase  um  tellin'  to  you,  sassy, 

Dat  dey  ain'  no  gal  lak  Rose, 
When  she  blossom  Sunday  mawnin' 

In  her  go-to-meetin'  clo'se. 

Rose,  Rose,  my  sweet  Rose ! 
Ain'  she  a  stunner 


186  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

In  her  go-to-meetin'  clo'se 

'Deed  she  is  a  posie, 
As  evah  niggah  knows, 

My  pansie,  posie,  Rosie, 
In  her  go-to-meetin'  clo'se. 

I  goes  wid  her  to  meetin' 

Evah  Sunday  mawnin',  sho', 
Fur  dey  ain'  no  other  niggah 

Nomernated  fur  her  beau ; 
Dey  knows  of  my  dejections, 

An'  dey  Stan's  erlong  in  rows, 
Mighty  'spectful  to  dat  lady, 

In  her  go-to-meetin'  clo'se. 

I  would  kyarve  a  coon  in  slices, 

An'  jes'  feed  him  to  de  crows, 
Ef  I  evah  cotch  him  winkin' 

At  mer  brown  manila  Rose, 
An'  dey  ain'  no  niggah  livin', 

In  de  house,  er  outen  do's, 
'Ceptin'  dis,  dat's  gwine  to  swing  her, 

In  her  go-to-meetin'  clo'se. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  187 

IF  I  COULD  LIVE  AS  LONG  AS 
METHUSALUM. 

If  I  could  live  just  as  long  as  old  Methusaluin, 
Him  dat  used  to  live  out  towards  old  Jerusalum, 
Mebbe  I  wouldn'  sorter  wheedle  an'  bamboozlum, 
Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 

I  wouldn'  be  bothered  'bout  when  will  de  king- 
dom come ; 

Dey  couldn'  skeer  me  wid  de  roll  of  de  battle 
drum  ; 

'Deed  I  wouldn'  keer  a  cent  for  de  whole  blame 
capoodlelum, 

Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 

If  I  could  live  just  as  long  as  old  Methusalam, 
I'd  sing  you  a  song  about  old  Mister  Abraham, 
An'  I  wouldn'  be  a  day  widout  de  possum  an'  de 
yaller  yam, 

Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 

I'd  take  a  little  journey  away  out  to  Amsterdam, 
Roll  aroun'  de  woiT,  an'  live  on  de  berry  jam ; 
An'  I  wouldn'  do  a  thing  but  mash  ev'ry  cullud 
lam', 

Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 


188  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

If  I  could  live  just  as  long  as  old  Methusaloo, 
What  do  you  think  that  I  would  sorter  try  to  do  ? 
Do  everybody,  an'  hoodoo  de  Spanish,  too, 
Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 

I  wouldn'  go  a'soldierin'  an'  fightin'  like  a  zoo- 
zoo; 

An*  I  wouldn'  be  a  black  cat,  an'  lookin'  like  a 
hoo-hoo, 

But  I'd  be  so  mighty  good  an'  old,  dey  couldn' 
call  me  too  new, 

Oh,  no,  sinner  man. 


THERE'S  NO   LITTLE  COON  LIKE 
MINE. 

Run  here,  mer  pickaninny, 
Doan  yo'  heah  yo'  mammy  callin'  ? 

De  sun  am  er  sinkin' 
An'  de  shadders  is  er  crawlin' 
Way  fum  de  thicket,  an'  old  man  B'ar 

Is  er  hidin'  an'  er  waitin' 

Fur  to  cotch  yo'  dar. 
Yo'  daddy's  gone  er  huntin', 

En  he  tuck  dat  sack,  , 

So  I  speck  he  bring  some  chickin' 

When  he  come  er  trottin'  back. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  189 

There's  no  little  coon  like  mine ; 

Jes'  see  how  he  face  do  shine ; 
Come  rockaby,  rner  tiny, 
Yo'  mammy's  pickaninny ; 

There's  no  little  coon  like  mine. 

Rockaby,  mer  baby, 
Ain'  yo'  nevah  gwine  a'sleepin'  ? 

De  win'  am  er  howlin', 
An'  de  ghos'es  is  er  creepin' 
Down  th'oo  de  flue,  an*  de  blue-gum  man 

Is  er  waitin'  fur  to  bite  um, 

Ez  sho  ez  he  can. 
Yo'  daddy  is  a'comin', 

An'  de  way  he  walk 
He's  er  totin'  watah-millions 

An'  de  shugar-caney  stalk. 

Mammy  is  er  rockin' 
Of  her  baby,  an'  er  singin', 

De  ole  owl's  er  hootin', 
An'  de  yuther  birds  is  wingin' 
'Way  to  dar  nestes,  up  de  high  tree, 

An'  de  cawn-pone's  in  de  oven 

Fur  daddy  an'  me. 
Yo'  daddy's  mighty  handy 

'Roun'  er  chicken  roos', 
An'  he  got  a  tas'e  fur  pullet, 

An'  he  doan  despise  a  goose. 


190  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

CAWN-PONE  AN*   GREENS. 

Dey  talks  about  dar  eatin', 

Dar  salids,  j'ints,  an'  sich, 
An*  all  de  fixin's  dat  becomes 

De  tables  of  de  rich ; 
I  'low  de  high-tone  doin's, 

Dat  comes  widin  dar  means, 
Is  monst'ous  good,  but  gimme,  please 

Some  hot  cawn-pone  an'  greens. 

Cawn-pone  an'  turnup  greens ! 

Hear  me,  whut  I  say? 
Bile  de  greens  wid  hawg-jole, 

An*  dar  I  wanter  stay, 
Jis'  wid  my  Lawd  an'  Marster, 

Contented  an'  alone, 
'Longside  dat  meat  an'  turnup-greens, 

An'  shortened  hot  cawn-pone. 

Mos'  coons  is  gone  on  possum ; 

I  likes  him  mighty  well, 
An'  I  likes  a  watah-million, 

Heap  mo'  dan  I  kin  tell ; 
But  I  'clar  to  Gracious  Goodness, 

Mer  feelin's  mostly  leans 
To'des  whut  yo'  hear  me  hollerin', 

Dat's  hot  cawn-pone  an'  greens. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  191 

YOU  KIN  NEVAH  MAKE  A  WHITE 
MAN  FROM  A  COON. 

I've  seed  'em  try  to  do  it,  sence  the  day  dat  I 

was  born, 
An'  ef  dey  keeps  er  tryin'  tell  Ole  Gabr'el  blow 

his  horn, 
Dey's  nevah  gwine  to  reach  it,  tell  a  cannon  hits 

de  moon, 
An'  dat  is  tryin'  fur  to  make  a  white  man  from 

a  coon. 

You  kin  nevah  make  a  white  man  from  a  coon, 
No  mo'  dan  go  to  heaven  in  a  b'loon. 

You  hear  me  what  I  say, 

En  I'll  prove  it  any  day, 
You  kin  nevah  make  a  white  man  from  a  coon. 

De  coon  he  love  spring  chicken,  an'  he'll  get  de 

fus'  one,  sho ; 
De  early  watah-million  gwine  to  reach  him  long 

befo' 
De  white  folks  know  hit's  comin',  and  he  nevah 

minds  de  price, 
He  gwine  to  git  dat  eatin'  sho'  as  seven's  in  de 

dice. 

De  white  man  he's  contented  for  to  w'ar  some 
quiet  clothes ; 


192  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

De  coon  he  wants  his  garments,  from  his  head 

clean  to  his  toes, 
To  talk  out  loud  in  meetin',  and  jis'  holler  when 

he  come 
To  beat  de  ban'  er  music,  wid  de  bugles  and  de 

drum. 

De  white  man  hunt  de  shadow  when  de  sun  is 

brilein'  hot, 
De  coon  he  love  de  sunshine,  and  he'd  ruther 

sleep  dan  not 
Wid  his  darkey  face  er  shinin'  fum  de  glory  of 

de  sky, 
Whilse  de  skeeters  sings  eroun'  him,  hush-a-by, 

mer  baby,  bye. 


HIS  BRACER  IN  THE  MORNING 

Dey's  a  monst'ous  sight  er  trouble 

On  de  ole  man's  mine', 
Wid  'leben  colts  to  curry, 

An'  work  of  ev'ry  kine', 
En  I  has  to  whoop  an'  hustle, 

Long  fo'  de  light  er  day, 
Kase  it  make  de  ole  man  bustle — 

You  hear  me  whut  I  say — 
Fur  to  worry  th'oo  de  bizniss, 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  193 

Afo'  de  day  is  dawnin' 
An'  mix  an'  fix  de  cocktail 
Fo'  marster  in  de  mawnin'. 

Dar's  nuffin'  gwine  to  budge  him 

F'um  de  ole  arm  char, 
Tell  de  cocktail  am  er  comin',      , 

Kase  he  jis'  dat  mighty  quar 
Dat  he  sho'ly  ain'  er  fittin' 

Fur  nuffin'  all  de  day, 
Tell  de  cocktail  I  is  gittin' 

Is  gone  de  proper  way. 
Den  he  laugh  away  all  trouble, 

De  bother  he  is  scawnin', 
When  he  lay  dat  big  foundation 

Wid  his  cocktail  in  de  mawnin'. 

You  kin  talk  about  de  julips, 

An'  de  whisky  toddy,  too, 
An'  de  apple-jack  an'  honey, 

An'  de  good  ole  mountin'  dew, 
But  dar's  nuffin'  gwine  ter  fix  him 

For  de  juties  of  de  day, 
An'  nuffin'  gwine  to  comfort  him, 

An'  drive  de  blues  away, 
Lak  dat  whut  I  is  talk  erbout— 

You  hear  my  gentle  warnin', 
Dey's  nuffin'  dat  so  lif  him  up 

As  a  cocktail  in  de  mawnin'. 


194  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

He  jes  as  good  an'  kine'  er  man 

As  any  evah  seed, 
En  he  gwineter  holp  de  neighbor  po' 

Whenevah  dey's  in  need, 
But  here's  a  niggah  talkin'  straight : 

I  wouldn'  stay  erbout 
Ef  de  'gredients  of  dem  cocktails 

At  marster's  should  give  out ; 
I'd  ring  er  bell,  er  blow  er  hawn, 

To  give  de  people  warnin' 
Ef  marster  evah  miss  one  time, 

Dat  cocktail  in  de  mawnin'. 


I'M  A  KING  AN'  I  WARS  DE  CROWN. 

I'm  a  high-tone  coon  an'  a  king, 
Jis  de  warmest  kind  of  a  thing. 

I'm  a  velvet  man,  an'  de  black-an'-tan 
Dey  prances  along  when  I  sing. 
Yes,  I'm  known  as  de  cullud  boss, 
Mighty  dangerous  when  I'm  cross ; 

I  leads  de  style  for  mo*  dan  a  mile ; 
I'm  killin'  as  a  late  June  fros'. 

CHORUS : 

Evah  yaller  gal  in  town, 
Dat  sees  me  coming  down, 

She  say:  "Dat's  him.     Don't  he  look  trim  ?" 
I'm  a  king  an'  I  w'ars  de  crown. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  195 

I'm  de  swiftest  thing  on  de  pike, 
Kase  I  rides  de  swellest  bike, 

De  tandem  kind,  wid  a  gal'on  behind, 
An'  we  leads  evah  thing  we  strike. 
I'm  de  sassiest  sort  of  a  coon — 
De  worst  dis  side  of  de  moon. 

I  shimmers  along,  a'singin'  a  song, 
To  de  music  of  dis  here  tune. 

I'm  de  only  one  of  de  kind 

Dat  de  black  folks  evah  could  find ; 

I'm  red-hot  game,  an'  I'm  known  to  fame, 
Kase  I  nevah  was  left  behind. 
Dey  wants  me  on  de  gin'ral's  staff, 
An'  dey  howls  for  my  photograph ; 

When  I  blows  in  view,  on  de  avenue, 
I'm  ahead  three  mile  and  a  half. 

I'm  de  dudest  coon  of  'em  all, 
An*  de  beau-i-deal  of  de  ball ; 

I'm  de  ladies'  pet,  of  de  cullud  set, 
An'  de  model  for  spring  and  fall. 
I'm  de  head  of  de  high  degree, 
An'  de  fruit  on  de  'simmon  tree ; 

I  goes  wid  a  vim,  kase  I'm  in  de  swim, 
An'  about  de  whole  thing  is  me. 


196  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

ALL  DAY  ON  LAWD'S  DAY. 

Oh  dey  do  tell  me  dat  away  ovah  dar, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 
De  gates  of  Heaven  is  wide  ajar 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day. 
An'  when  de  sinnah  leave  dis  place, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 
His  soul  goes  up  to  de  throne  of  grace 

Dat  day  on  de  Lawd's  day. 

CHORUS : 

Den  I  want  to  die  on  de  Lawd's  day, 

Don't  you  hear  me  'clar  ? 
I  want  to  die  on  de  Lawd's  day 

When  de  gates  of  Heaven  is  ajar. 

Ole  miss  she  rid  de  Jordan  wave, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 
De  doctors  tried  her  life  to  save, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day. 
She  rid  ontil  de  sun  went  down, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 
Den  her  soul  broke  loost  and  won  de  crown, 

Dat  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 

Ole  marster  'rastled  too,  one  day, 
All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day, 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  197 

Trying  on  dis  earth  to  stay, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  da^. 
He  'rastled  till  dem  stars  arose, 

All  day  on  de  Lawd's  day. 
An'  when  he  got  dar  dem  gates  was  close', 

Dat  day  on  de  Lawd's  day. 


HOW  EPHUM  WON  A  GUN. 

Dat  muskit  kicked  me  th'oo  de  fence, 
En'  I  ain'  got  my  bref  good  sense. 
Say,  daddy,  woan'  you  tell  yo'  son 
Whar  in  de  worl'  you  got  dat  gun  ? 

I  got  it  in  de  waugh,  you  dunce, 
Ez  Ise  tole  you  mo'  dan  once. 
How  many  times  mus'  dat  be  said 
To  git  hit  th'oo  yo'  kinky  head  ? 

Laws,  daddy !  'clar  I  didn'  know 
Dat  you  wuz  in  de  waugh  befo', 
I  wisht  you'd  tell  me  all  about 
How  you  got  in  an'  den  got  out. 

I  wuzn't  in  de  waugh  befo' ; 
I  went  wid  my  young  marster,  Joe. 
En  when  Marse  Joe  wuz  in  de  line 
In  co'se  I  allers  rid  behin'. 


198  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

But  when  de  battle  it  begun, 
I  stayed  dar  wid  him — hear  me,  mun  ? 
I  stayed  dar  totem'  all  de  truck, 
An*  Marster  say  I  bring  him  luck. 

Den  one  day,  when  de  line  wuz  pressed, 
I  hid  er  skillit  on  my  breast, 
En  run  some  stovepipe  up  my  legs 
To  keep  de  bullets  from  dem  pegs. 

Den  me  an'  young  Marse  Joe,  we  fit, 
En  we  would  ben'er  fightin'  yit, 
But  jis'  ez  we  had  tuck  er  gun 
Marse  Lee,  he  say,  de  waugh  wuz  done. 

So  Gin'l  Grant  he  tuck  us  all, 
En  pooty  soon  I  heerd  him  call : 
"  You,  Ephum  Jones,  come  heah  to  me  ! 
I  sees  you  hidin'  hin'  dat  tree." 

So  I  goes  up,  a'trimlin'  so, 
Dat  skillit  fall  an'  mash  my  toe ; 
An'  Gin'l  Grant  he  say  to  me, 
"  You's  fight'nis  coon  I  evah  did  see." 

En  den  he  say — right  fo'  Marse  Joe — 
"  You'll  git  a  penshin  for  dat  toe." 
Still  I  ain*  nevah  seed  it  yit, 
But  dat's  kase  of  de  side  I  fit. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  199 

But  Marse  Grant  gimme  dis  yer  gun, 
En  say  dat  it  I'd  fa'rly  won ; 
"  You  keep  it,  Ephum,  fo'  yo'se'f." 
I  thanked  him,  en  he  bowed  an  lef. 

Dat's  how  I  got  dat  good  ole  gun, 
En  lemme  tell  you  whut,  mer  son, 
Ef  you'd  jis  load  her  wid  mo'  sense 
She  wouldn'  kick  you  thoo  de  fence. 


SANDY'S  SUNDAY  SHIRT. 

I'se  got  a  Sunday  shirt, 

An'  it  look  so  mighty  peart, 
My  Julie  gal  she  hang  it  on  de  do' 

All  thoo  de  week-a-days, 

An'  she  do  dat,  so  she  says, 
For  to  'form  de  folks  as  how  we  isn'  po'. 

Oh  !  de  Sunday  shirt  is  hanging  on  de  do'; 
For  to  let  de  passin'  people  fully  know, 

Dat  de  pussons  livin'  dar 

Is  er  doin'  pooty  fa'r, 
An'  dey  lacks  a  mighty  heap  of  bein'  po'. 

De  place  whar  I  hoi's  out — 
You  heah  dis  niggah  shout — 


200  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

You  kin  always  tell,  for  sartin  an'  for  sho', 

Ef  Julie  gal's  in  town, 

Or  anywhar  aroun' 
By  dat  Sunday  shirt  a'hangin'  on  de  do'. 


JAW-BONE  TALK. 

Hen,  she  fit  de  chicken  hawk ; 
Jaw-bone  eat  wid  knife  and  fawk, 
So  dem  jaw-bone  talkers  talk, 
Whilse  dem  walkers  walk  de  chalk. 

Talk  jaw-bone,  do  go  home, 
In  come  Jin  wid  'er  josey  on. 

Alligator  on  a  log 

Holdin'  talk  wid  er  high-back  hog ; 

'Gator  lip  dat  rivah  fence, 

En  I  ain'  seed  dat  ole  hog  sence. 

Cawn-pone  in  de  fryin'  pan, 
Look  so  good  to  er  hawngry  man, 
In  dar  wid  de  possum  fat, 
I  ca'  stop  en  stan'  all  dat. 

Ole  Jack  Pros'  er  sassy  man, 
Foolin'  roun'  in  Dixie  Ian'; 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  201 

Tek  de  white  folks  by  de  nose, 
Grab  de  niggah  by  de  toes. 

Cotton  seed  an'  cotton  sowed, 
Rainy  day  an'  cawn  done  hoed, 
Pusley  growin'  mighty  fas', 
Down  dar  in  de  gyarden  sass. 


"DEM  SKEETERS." 

See  dat  ole  skeeter  buzzin'  'roun'  ? 

He  co'tein'  sartin  death. 
I'm  layin'  fur  him,  mighty  low, 

An'  soon  I'll  stop  his  breath. 
He  dunno  who  he  foolin'  wid, 

But  when  I  smash  'im  down, 
Dat  skeeter  gwine  to  quit  his  trick 

Er  buzzin',  buzzin'  'roun'. 

Ker-bip !     He  dodged  me  dat  ar  time, 

But  he  doan  know  no  mo' 
Dan  jis'  to  come  er  trapesin'  back, 

An'  den  I'll  git  him  sho'. 
Sjzz-izz  " — you  hear  his  sassy  song  ? 

He  done  lit  on  my  face ; 
Ker-bip  !     He'll  nevah  sing  no  mo'; 

He  done  is  run  he  race. 


302  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Dem  skeeters  'minds  me,  mighty  heap, 

Er  dese  yar  mortal  fools 
Dat  thinks  dey's  gwine  to  do  erway 

Wid  all  de  laws  en  rules, 
An'  run  things  jis'  to  suit  dey selves, 

En  live  high,  every  day ; 
Git  all  dey  wants,  an'  do  no  work, 

An'  hoot  at  givin'  pay. 

Dey  gwine  to  keep  a  pestrin'  'roun' 

Tell  ev'ry  chance  has  flew, 
An'  Ole  Starvation  done  is  come 

An'  smashed  de  hawngry  crew. 
De  man  what  works  whar  he  belong, 

An'  win  his  'onis'  way, 
Will  1'arn  how  dat  beats  sizzin'  'roun' — 

You  hear  me  say  my  say. 


TELL  ME,  HONEY. 

Wen  ole  Unc'  Gabel  done  blow  his  bugle  hawn, 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  honey, 

Will  you  meet  me  by  de  ribber,  jes  sho'  as  you 
is  bawn  ? 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  honey 
Kase  I  won't  cyar,  ef  you  ain'  dar, 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  203 

Fur  de  bias'  on  de  bugle  er  de  buzzin'  in  de  air, 
No,  mer  honey  true  ;  no,  mer  honey. 
Dat  mek  me  say  whut  I  do. 

Dat  mek  me  say  whut  I  do, 
An'  whut  I  say  is  true, 
I  ain'  love  nobody  'tall  but  you 
So  dat  mek  me  say  whut  I  do. 

Dar  ain'  nobody  I'se  er  lovin'  but  you, 

Dat's  true,  dat's  true,  honey. 
Fur  you  is  sweeter  dan  de  honey  in  de  dew, 

Dat's  true,  dat's  true,  honey. 
You  is  mer  life — a'mos'  mer  wife, 
Er  I  couldn'  stan'  de  trouble,  de  worry  an*  de 
strife — 

No,  mer  honey  true ;  no,  mer  honey. 

Dat  mek  me  say  whut  I  do. 

Won't  you  come  erlong  wid  me,  bright  shinin' 
eyes  ? 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  honey. 
Dem  eyes  dat  shines  lak  di'monds  in  de  skies, 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  honey. 
Down  at  yo'  feet  I  begs,  mer  sweet, 
Take  away  de  trouble  an'  mek  life  complete ; 

Do,  mer  honey  true ;  do,  mer  honey. 

Dat  mek  me  say  whut  I  do. 


204  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

FO'  DEY  SET  DE  DARKIES  FREE. 

Dar's  er  monst'ous  sight  er  difference, 

Jes'  as  sho'  as  you  is  bawn, 
On  de  ole  plantation  farmin' 

'Mong  de  'backer  and  de  cawn. 
De  days  ain't  lak  dey  useter  wuz, 

Hit's  plain  ernuff  to  see, 
An'  de  change  is  mighty  bindin' 

Sence  dey  set  de  darkies  free. 

Dar's  er  fiel'  dat's  growed  in  saplin's, 

Whar  jis'  many  of  a  day 
We'se  hilt  de  plow  and  worked  de  hoe, 

Lak  hit  wuz  fines'  play. 
De  sassafrac  has  tuck  it,  en 

Dar's  on'y  you  an'  me 
To  fight  dem  briar  bushes, 

Sence  dey  set  de  darkies  free. 

We  has  got  er  heap  er  freedom, 

But  de  shugar's  mighty  skase, 
An'  de  birds  doan  seem  er  singin', 

'Roun'  de  blessed  ole  home  place 
As  sweet  as  in  de  days  back  dar, 

Of  plenty,  work  an'  glee, 
Dat  we  kin  re-commember 

Fo'  dey  set  de  darkies  free. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  $ 

HARD  TIMES  GWINE  AWAY. 

I  gwine  to  wrop  dese  fish,  lines  up 

An'  leave  dis  fishin'  hole. 
I  gwine  to  throw  dis  bait-hawn  'way 

An'  hide  dis  fishin'  pole. 
Dar  ain*  no  time  fur  fishin'  now, 

Dat  whistle  done  is  blow, 
An'  I  gwine  down  to  dat  ole  mill 

Ez  fas'  ez  I  kin  go. 

"  What  fur?  "  you  axes,  jes'  ez  if 

You  doan'  know  nuffin'  't  all 
'Bout  how  ole  Hard  Times  gwine  erway 

Whar  he  can't  hurt  we-all ; 
An'  how  de  mill  is  start  ergin, 

An  Good  Times  he  am  come, 
To  give  us  people  lots  er  work 

An'  make  dem  mill  wheels  hum. 

"  How  come  ?  "    Well,  you  is  monst'ous  slow, 

Whar  is  you  ben  erway 
Dat  you  ain'  hear  de  joyful  news 

Dat  come  out  here  today  ? 
De  white  folks,  dey  done  fix  things  up 

An'  all  de  signs  is  right, 
So  bizness  gwine  to  start  ergin 

An'  whoop  up,  out  er  sight. 


206  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Dem  'lection  times  is  ovah  now, 

An'  all  de  fuss  is  done ; 
Dey's  done  quit  talkin'  pol-er-tics 

An'  gwine  ter  work,  mer  son. 
Dey  tell  me  dat,  t'roo-out  der  Ian' 

De  mills  is  start  once  mo', 
An'  dat  ole  wolf  is  druv  erway 

From  sniffin'  'roun'  de  do'. 

You'll  heah  de  'scape  pipe  puffin'  now, 

An'  heah  de  stiddy  noise 
Dat  soun's  when  dat  ole  mill's  at  work, 

An'  heah  de  singin'  boys, 
All  happy  kase  dey's  got  er  chance 

To  arn  de  things  dey  need 
To  keep  deir  wives  an'  chillun  warm 

An'  give  'em  fittin'  feed. 

Dat's  why  I  gwine  to  wrop  dis  line, 

An'  leave  dis  fishin'  hole, 
An'  throw  erway  dis  ole  bait-hawn 

An'  hide  de  fishin'  pole. 
De  whole  worl*  is  lookin'  brighter  now, 

An'  you  is  gwine  ter  see 
Some  prosp'rous  times,  if  you  come  on 

An'  go  ter  work  wid  me. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  207 

ZOE'S  PLEA. 

'Deed  Zo'  was  black,  en  rtie  in  love 

Wid  dat  dark,  woolly  lamb ; 
En  now  we's  married  good  en  strong 

En  happy  ez  er  clam. 
But  bress  yo'  life,  we  had  to  go 

Clean  outen  owah  station, 
All  kase  dat  Zo',  she  up  en  say, 

Widout  no  hezmitation : 
"  Ise  live'  ermung  dese  pasturs,  mun, 

Sence  I  had  re-collection, 
But  I  mus'  move — dis  blue  grass  doan' 

Match  up  wid  my  complexion." 


THE  DINNER  HORN. 

I  'members,  honey,  mighty  well, 

De  good  ole  times  dat's  gone, 
When  us  darkeys  useter  stop  de  hoe 

To  hear  de  dinnah  hawn. 
Oh  dat  was  sweetes'  music 

'Bout  de  middle  of  de  day — 
Dat  soundin'  of  de  ole  cow  hawn 

To  call  us  all  away, 

To  call  us  all  away 

To  hot  pone  en  hock-bone, 
Dat  mek  de  darkey  gay. 


208  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

I'd  lak  to  see  dem  times  ergin, 

En  hear  de  darkeys  sing 
Whilse  dey  spun  along  de  cotton  row 

En  make  de  hillsides  ring. 
Down  dar  in  good  ole  Dixie, 

Whar  de  dinnah  hawn  did  blow, 
Down  in  de  Ian'  er  cotton  bolls 

To  call  us  f'um  de  hoe, 

To  call  us  f  um  de  hoe, 

To  hot  pone  en  hock-bone, 
Dar's  whar  I  wanter  go. 

De  drivah,  he  was  sassy  sho', 
But  dat  was  jes'  his  way, 

We  was  clothed  an'  fed  an'  sheltered, 
An'  no  cold  an'  hawngry  day 

Could  ketch  us,  in  de  sunny  Souf, 
An'  sho'  as  you  is  bawn 

Dar  was  plenty  waitin'  fur  us  when 
Ole  Dinah  blowed  de  hawn, 
Ole  Dinah  blowed  de  hawn, 

Fur  hot  pone,  en  hock-bone, 
En  mustard,  greens,  en  cawn. 

Dem  lan's  is  monst'ous  idle,  now, 
We'se  tickled  wid  de  hoe, 

'Twell  laughin'  things  was  comin'  so 
Dat  you  could  see  um  grow. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  200 

Aim'  Dinah's  up  in  Heben's  res' 

An'  all  de  darkeys  gone 
To  whar  dey'll  nevah  hear  no  mo' 
Dat  good  ole  dinnah  hawn, 
Dat  good  ole  dinnah  hawn, 

Fur  hot  pone,  an'  hock-bone, 
Dem  times  is  come  en  gone. 


MY  ALABAMA  ROSE. 

My  honey  love  she's  lovely, 

Lak  roses  on  de  vine ; 
Lawd  love  dat  lovely  lady 

What's  a'  dwellin'  in  my  min'. 
Some  roses  dey  is  sweetes' 

When  wet  wid  mawnin'  dew, 
My  yaller  rose  is  sweetes' 

De  livelong  day  all  thoo. 

Den  laugh  an*  shout  an'  sing,  you  niggahs,  sing, 
An'  dance  an'  prance  an'  mek  de  banjo  ring ; 
Chune  up  dat  fiddle  mighty  fine, 
Den  walk  de  chalk  an'  toe  de  line. 

I  gwine  to  sail  an'  sail  away 

Thoo  all  de  rollin'  worl', 
Jes'  seekin'  out  fur  diemonts 


210  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

To  deck  my  yaller  pearl. 
When  I  come  back,  my  honey, 

In  dat  sweet  bye  an'  bye, 
Lak  bees  into  de  country, 

We'll  tek  up  wings  an'  fly. 

We'll  git  er  cabin,  Rosy, 

Down  by  de  rivah's  side, 
An'  you  will  be  my  honey 

An'  my  Alabama  bride ; 
An'  dar  we'll  live  as  happy 

As  'gators  in  de  sloo, 
An'  lovin'  one  ernother's  jes' 

'Bout  all  we'll  hatter  do. 


RAMBO'S  SERENADE. 

Mighty  pooty  gal  down  dar  at  owah  house, 

En  she  ain't  er  gwine  to  stay  ve'y  long ; 
I'll  steal  to  her  do',  jes'  still  ez  er  mouse, 

En  sing  her  a  mighty  pooty  song. 
I'll  tell  her  in  de  song  how  I  love  her, 

En  chune  up  de  banjo  sof  en  low, 
Twell  she  think  all  de  twinklin'  stars  above  her 

Is  jine  in  de  chorus  wid  her  beau. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  %\\ 

Oh,  my  honey  love ! 
Oh,  my  turtle  dove  ! 

Doan  you  hear  me  plead  ? 
Come,  my  lady  love ; 
Come,  my  yaller  dove  ; 

You  is  what  I  need. 

De  whippoorwill  flutes  down  dar  by  de  crick  • 

De  mock-bird's  singin'  his  mate  to  sleep, 
En  dar  whar  de  woods  is  so  black  en  thick 

De  sof  win'  blows  wid  er  sigh  en  er  weep. 
Hit's  a  weepin'  fur  me,  my  honey  so  true, 

Kase  I'se  so  sorry,  en  sick,  en  sad ; 
Yes,  I  is  a'longin',  mer  lady,  for  you ; 

'Deed  I  is  a'  wantin'  you  so  mighty  bad. 

Ole  day'll  come  er  creepin'  in  now  pooty  soon — 

Come  er  creepin'  f  'urn  de  hills  over  yan — 
He  gwine  drive  away  dat  bright,  shiny  moon 

En  spread  out  his  glory  in  de  Ian'. 
Den  I  goes  back  to  work,  en  I  toils  all  de  day, 

Jes'  er  sighin'  en  er  longin'  fur  you, 
So  come  out,  mer  lady,  en  min'  what  I  say, 

Please  er  come  out,  mer  lady,  oh,  do  !^ 

Dat  pooty  yaller  gal  gwine  to  come  outen  dar, 

En  go  'long  wid  me  to  de  ball 
Whar  she  gwine  to  be  de  belle  an'  de  star, 

An'  de  swelles'  thing  of  'em  all ; 


212  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Den  we  gwine  to  dance  'twell  de  comin'  of  de  day 
An'  shy  'twell  de  shadder  of  de  night, 

Den  me  an'  de  gal,  we'se  er  gwine  to  scoot  erway, 
By  de  light  of  de  moonshine  bright. 

Dat  pooty  yaller  gal  kin  cut  de  pigeon-wing, 

En  beat  sich  er  chune  on  de  flo', 
Dat  de  alligator  pat,  an'  try  fur  to  sing, 

'Twell  he  face  open  wide,  lak  er  do'. 
En  de  ole  gray  mule,  standin'  down  at  de  gate, 

He  lif  up  his  ears  mighty  high, 
En  he  lissen,  en  he  'low  he  mighty  glad  to  wait,, 

'Twell  de  music  is  done  roll  by. 


LOO,  JOHN. 

I  looked  acrost  de  ocean, 

An'  I  seed  de  waters  flashin'; 

Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
Ole  mist'  and  marst'  er  comin', 
Jis'  er  tarin'  an'  er  slashin'; 
Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
Ole  miss  rid  de  black  hoss, 
En  master  rid  de  pony ; 

Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
Dat  little  bit  er  pony 

Whut  dey  call  de  Macaroni ; 
Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  213 

REFRAIN  : 

Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo  ; 

Whar  is  dat  hole  dat  de  hog  got  thoo  ? 

I  rid  him  'roun'  de  mountin', 

Whilse  de  people  wuz  a'countin'; 

Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
His  foot  struck  a  rock,  an' 
Hit  jarred  a  loose  a  fountin'; 
Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
Den  he  flew  to  de  eas',  an' 
He  flew  acrost  de  mountin'; 
Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 
Den  he  flew  outen  sight 

En  we  drunk  f'um  de  fountin'; 
Oh  Loo,  John,  oh  Loo. 


A  'POSSUM  SONG. 

Jis'  lissen,  niggahs,  lissen ; 

I'se  gwine  to  sing  er  song ; 
Hit's  gwine  to  be  mos'  monst'ous  sweet, 

An'  yit  not  monst'ous  long. 
I'se  gwine  to  sing  er  'possum, 

An'  some  er  Yaller  Loo, 
An'  mention  dem  big  Georgy  yams, 

Fur  dey  is  yaller,  too. 


214  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Den  hear  me ;  oh  hear  me, 

Chime  de  banjo  high ; 
Fur  me  an'  Loo  is  livin' 

Away  up  in  de  sky. 

Wen  I  comes  in  f  um  huntin', 

'An'  brings  dat  file-tail  beas', 
Dat  Loo's  de  happyis'  niggah  gal, 

Sence  Knee-bud-neezer's  feas'. 
She  tek  ole  Mistoo  'Possum, 

En  git  down  awn  her  knees, 
An'  fix  him  clean  en  wholesome, 

Den  hang  him  up  to  freeze. 

Way  'long  too-wads  nex'  evenin', 

'Bout  early  cannel  light, 
You  niggahs  all  come  snoopin'  roun' 

A'smellin'  fur  a  bite, 
Kase  Yaller  Loo's  done  roas'  im, 

Wid  dem  sweet,  yaller  yams, 
An'  basted  him,  mer  honeys, 

Wid  de  essence  er  de  hams. 

You's  monst'ous  frien'ly  wid  me, 

Kase  he's  persuadin',  sho'; 
But  you  has  to  smell  him  thoo  de  chinks, 

Fur  I  is  shet  de  do'. 
When  Loo  and  me's  done  wid  'im, 

An'  cyarved  him  to  de  heart, 
Den  tek  he  bones,  en  'rastle 

Fur  de  lazy  niggah 's  part. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  21£ 

HEAR  DEM  NIGGAHS  SINGIN'. 

I  hear  dem  niggahs  singin' 

De  songs  of  long  ago, 
An  thoo  my  mem'ry's  ringin' 
De  tales  I  useter  know — 
Ringin',  ringin', 

Like  de  songs  de  birds  is  singin' 
Whilse  aroun'  dar  nestes  wingin', 
Dey  is  singin'  sof  an*  low. 

Mah  soul  is  weepin',  sighin', 

Fur  de  times  dat's  come  an'  gone, 
When  de  niggahs  wuz  a  viein' 
Wid  one  'nuther  'mong  de  cawn, 
Pullin',  haulin', 
Jes'  er  singin'  an'  er  bawlin', 
Er  'raslin'  an'  er  fallin' 
An'  er  wishin'  fur  de  hawn. 

I'm  monst'ous  ole  an'  needy, 
An'  trim'lin'  on  mah  pins, 
An'  I  am  prayin',  yes,  indeedy, 
Fur  forgiveness  fur  mah  sins. 
Prayin',  prayin', 

Whilse  de  youngsters  is  er  playin', 
An'  axin'  whilse  I'm  stayin' 
Fur  de  Lawd  to  let  me  in. 


216  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Do  hear  dat  banjo  th'ummin' — 

Ef  I  wuz  young  ergin 
I  lay  I'd  be  ermong  um 
En  furgittin'  'bout  all  sin. 
Th'ummin',  th'ummin', 
Jis'  hear  dat  banjo  hummin'- 
Say,  niggahs,  I'se  a'  comin'; 
Ole  age  ca'  keep  me  in. 


SORRY  FOR  THE  LORD. 

I'm  gittin'  sorry  fur  you,  Lawd, 

Indeed  an'  trufe,  I  am ; 
De  niggah  wants  so  monst'ous  much, 

Cep'  Gilead  an'  de  ba'm. 
Dey  prays  fur  ev'rything  dey  needs, 

Dat  work  would  bring  'em  all, 
An'  wants  de  fruit  of  all  de  'arth, 

Jis'  like  befo'  de  fall. 

I  heard  one  niggah  prayin',  Lawd, 

His  very  level  bes', 
Fur  Christmas  time  de  whole  year  Voun' 

An'  all  de  time  a  res'; 
He  axed  to  have  de  chicken  roos' 

Down  on  de  lowes'  limb, 
An'  turkeys  jes'  on  top  de  fence, 

In  easy  reach  er  him. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  217 

Come  stately  steppin',  oh,  good  Lawd, 

Ton  yo'  lily-white  steed, 
An'  smash  dem  sassy  riiggahs  down, 

An'  bruise  de  sarpint's  seed. 
Dey  howls  at  you  de  livelong  night, 

An'  robs  yo'  of  yo'  sleep, 
'Kase  dey's  too  lazy  fur  to  sow, 

An'  got  no  crap  to  reap. 


JUBE'S  OLD  YALLER  DOG. 

I'se  be'n  a-trav'lin'  thoo  dis  vale 

Nigh  on  to  eighty  years, 
An'  now  my  eyes  is  'gun  to  fail 

Wid  weepin'  bittah  tears. 
My  po'  ole  wife  is  goned  above- 

De  way  I'se  gwine  to  jog — 
An'  all  dat's  left  fur  me  to  love 

Is  dat  ole  yaller  dog. 

My  chillun's  scattered  here  an'  thar, 

An'  wouldn'  know  me  now, 
But  we  will  pass  de  gates  ajar, 

At  jedgment  day,  I  'low, 
An'  while  I  make  de  'stressful  rounds 

Thoo  all  de  damp  an'  fog, 
Of  dese  yar  wearisome  low  grounds, 

I'se  got  dat  yaller  dog. 


218  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

We'se  hunted,  many  a  livelong  night, 

De  'possum  an'  de  coon, 
An'  cotch  'em  by  de  silvah  light 

Of  many  a  southern  moon. 
We'se  built  a  blaze  an'  cooked  de  meat 

'Longside  a  big  back-log, 
An'  had  some  times  mos'  monst'ous  sweet- 

Jis*  me  an'  dat  ole  dog. 

An'  long  as  I  is  stayin'  here 

Fse  got  one  frien',  I  know ; 
Ef  I  is  po'  de  dog  don't  keer — 

His  head  don't  run  on  show. 
An'  'long  as  I  is  got  a  bite 

Er  hominy  an'  hog, 
I'se  gwine  to  Vide — you  jis'  is  right — 

Wid  dat  ole  yaller  dog. 


OLD  CATO'S  CREED. 

I'se  heard  a  monst'ous  heap  er  talk 

'Bout  th'ology  an'  creeds, 
But  you  hear  me  a'shoutin'  now, 

Dar's  nuthin'  like  good  deeds. 
Jes'  gimme  sweet  religion,  please — 

I  don't  keer  what's  its  name — 
De  Methodis'  or  Babtis'  kind 

Will  save  you,  jes*  de  same. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  219 

I'm  on  my  road  to  Heaven,  sho', 

An*  ain't  got  time  to  talk ; 
Ef  you  is  gwine  'long  wid  me 

You's  got  to  walk  de  chalk ; 
Ole  Petah's  standin'  at  de  gate 

An*  hit  am  wide  ajar, 
But  jes'  a  lettah  f  urn  de  church 

Won't  take  you  in  thoo  dar. 

He  gwineter  ax  you,  mighty  close, 

All  'bout  yo'  daily  walk, 
An'  ef  you  holp  de  neighbor  po' 

Wid  sompen  else  but  talk ; 
He  gwine  to  sarch  you,  thoo  an'  thoo, 

An'  sho'  as  you  is  bawn, 
Ef  you  ain't  right,  you'll  wish  that  Gabe 

Had  nevah  blowed  his  hawn. 

You'll  see  ole  Mary  shinin'  dar, 

An'  Paul  an*  Silas,  too, 
An'  Moses  an'  de  other  ones. 

De  ship  er  Zion's  crew ; 
An'  nary  one  will  have  a  creed 

Ascep'  de  chas'enin'  rod, 
Ah'  all  will  sing  a  "  hallalu'  " 

Aroun'  de  throne  er  God. 


220  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

SOME  SINGIN'. 

Dey  talked  so  mighty  monst'ous  much 

About  de  white  folks'  singin' 
Up  in  de  big  high-steeple  chu'ch 

Hit  sot  my  y'ears  a-ringin'. 
So  up  I  goes  an'  tuck  a  seat 

Jis'  whar  de  sexton  p'inted, 
As  'umble  dar,  at  Jesus'  feet, 

As  any  onann'inted. 

De  ban'  struck  up,  an'  I  declar' 

Hit  nearly  froze  my  livah, 
An'  almos'  raised  my  kinky  ha'r 

An'  made  my  marrer  shivah. 
An'  when  de  singin'  started  in, 

Away  up  in  de  gal'ry, 
Hit  sounded  like  a  cotton-gin 

A-screekin'  fur  a  sal'ry. 

Dar  warn't  no  soun'  like  "  hallalu ! " 

An'  "  Jerdan's  stormy  rivah," 
"  Char-i-o'  swingin'  low  fur  you," 

As  evah  I  could  'skivah. 
Hit  warn't  de  good,  ole  shoutin'  songs 

We  has  at  cullud  preachin', 
Whar  glory  an'  de  love-feas'  b'longs, 

Soul-sarchin'  an'  heart-reachin'. 


NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES  221 

JULEY  ANN. 

Some  say  I'se  cross  an'  cranky,  too, 

An'  mebbe  dat  I  am, 
I'se  had  enough  to  worry  thoo 

To  aggervate  a  lamb. 

I'se  had  nine  chillun  in  my  day, 

An'  nary  one  is  lef  ; 
Dey  all  was  tuck  an'  kyard  away, 

An'  I'm  here  by  myse'f. 

Ole  master  died  when  I  wuz  grown, 

An'  stated  in  his  will, 
Dat  I  mus'  be  Miss  Susie's  own — 

Me  an'  de  water-mill. 

My  chillun,  dey  wuz  lotted  out — 
An*  mind  you,  'fo'  dey's  bawn, 

Fur  I  wuz  healthy,  strong  and  stout, 
An'  sho'  as  las'  year's  cawn. 

De  fus'  wuz  Tom,  dey  tuck  him  when 

He  jis'  wuz  fo'  year  old. 
An'  foU'rin'  him  wuz  little  Ben 

An'  den  my  Jane  wuz  sold, 

An'  Lu  an'  Bob  and  Tip  an'  Jim — 
An'  Sam,  my  crippled  son, 


222  NEGRO  DIALECT  VERSES 

Dey  even  mosied  off  wid  him, 
An'  lef  me  nary  one. 

Dem  chillun's  scattered  ever'whar, 

An'  dunno  who  dey  is, 
But  dey  will  know  me  ovah  dar 

When  jedgment's  sun  is  riz. 

I  may  'pear  monst'ous  cross  an'  ill, 
But  Heaven  knows  I  b'ar 

No  spite,  er  hate,  er  'vengeful  will 
To  block  my  way  up  dar. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  lost  DATE  stamped  below. 


50m-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


TORED  AT  NRLr 


PS3543.I87B5 


3  2106  00215  2277 


